


The Haunting of Tony Stark (alt. Wishes & Regrets)

by Ronan Vespertine (Akina1521)



Category: Avengers: Endgame - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Moments of fluff, Peter finding acceptance, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony letting go, a fic about moving on, a little bonding between Morgan and Peter, also there's more platonic ironstrange than there is irondad so whoops, because of course it is, ghost!tony, not entirely a fix-it fic but the sentiment is there, that's gotta change in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akina1521/pseuds/Ronan%20Vespertine
Summary: After the events of Endgame, Tony Stark finds he has become a ghost. With no one able to see him except Strange and his unbearably serious order of monks, Tony finds that his presence is still a danger to everyone around him.ON HIATUS UNTIL INTEREST COMES AROUND AGAIN.





	1. A Starry Night Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitkat_tat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat_tat/gifts).



> Dedicated to the good friends I made during my first year of college. Only one of you will probably read this, maybe two. You guys were the best supportive community I ever found myself surrounded with. Despite me ultimately choosing not to stay past our first year and deciding to forge my own path away from you all, I truly cherish the time we were able to spend together even if it was by a little amount. You guys helped provide the environment I needed to find peace with myself.
> 
> Thank you.

_You can rest now._

Tony feels oddly peaceful. As if he’s floating, drifting. Quietly. Unburdened with responsibilities, hurt, fear. He’s at peace, with himself and the world.

His eyes slowly open of their own volition. The billionaire opens his eyes and is met with the soothing sight of a starry night sky, gradually being overcome by the warm colors associated with a new dawn. He watches as they chase the darkness away, conquering the stars as they make way for the sun.

It’s a nice sight.

The early morning air feels cool and crisp, a fresh wave clearing away nonexistent negatives in his psyche. He lays where he is, wherever it is, content with enjoying the show of the sun’s light chasing away the darkness of night for a while.

The distant sound of birds rouses him from the strange sleep-state he has fallen under. Tony blinks away the hypnotizing haze encasing his mind and shakes his head to further awaken his consciousness.

He feels oddly… weightless.

Tony frowns as he looks down at himself. He is translucent, wearing the same clothes he had worn the day they returned the Vanished. Alarmed, Tony brings up his hands for closer inspection. Yep, he’s see-through. Tony starts patting himself down in panic, but finds that he can’t _feel_ himself. No temperature. No solidity. No air. His hands are tapping his chest, yet he can’t feel the contact happening at all.

It’s like he doesn’t exist.

With a start, he realizes he isn’t even on the ground. Tony lets out a strangled sound as he realizes he is _floating_ . With wide eyes, Tony launches himself forward—rather, _tumbles_ —accidentally losing control of himself as he spins wildly 50 feet above the ground.

“Woah! Okay, hold it there! FRIDAY?!”

Tony imagines he looks ridiculous, waving his arms wildly in the air with his legs thrashing about like one of those embarrassingly intimidating balloon people posted in the parking lots of car dealerships. To add to the madness, his entire body is slowly tumbling in the air of its own volition. Somehow, he is able to stop rotating like a rotisserie chicken, coming to a slow stop while facing the dizzyingly distant ground below him. Sucking in a shaky breath, the billionaire tries tapping the nanotech housing unit on his chest. Nothing comes out. Tony looks down and blanches as he realizes that the comforting glow of the arc reactor that signifies his life status is absent.

A billion and more things run through his mind. Forcing himself to take deep, calm breaths, Tony tries to gather himself.

_Okay, chill out. There’s got to be a reasonable explanation for this._

A shaky breath, calmer now.

_Nothing is after you right now. See? No threats, nada. Sure, the suit’s not working and FRIDAY’s offline. But I’m still living and breathing, aren’t I?_

Tony slaps his cheeks and blows out a breath.

“Okay,” Tony starts, muttering to himself. “First things first, how the hell did I end up here?”

Tony is having a hard time remembering what had happened prior. In fact, he’s having a hard time remembering anything at all. The Avenger scrunches his face in concentration as he tries to will away the haze that is somehow plaguing his mind, preventing him from recalling any of his past memories.

As he tries to recall past events, Tony doesn’t notice as his corporeal body slowly drifts down to the ground, his legs landing on the grass as softly as a feather. However, he does feel the slow return of a weighted feeling as his body gradually acclimates to become slightly more solid, though not enough to feel normal. Blinking, Tony feels around, able to get a grasp of feeling in his limbs again.

“Oh, okay. Things worked out just fine on their own, then.”

Tony stands up. He looks around, taking in his surroundings. He is standing amongst rubble, his views taking in the remains of a huge structure that had probably been blown to pieces. It is eerily silent.

He starts walking. His feet make no sounds, despite his soles crunching on jagged gravel. It’s jarring. Nothing he does emits a sound, or an indication of his presence. Something starts to close around his heart.

He redirects his focus, trying to ground himself and prioritizing the situation first. Tony feels worry ebb at his mind, trying to remember where he is and what had happened. Something is tugging at him from the back of his mind, trying to surface. But it’s too quiet around him. Nothing can speak.

He spots the dusty logo of the Avengers on one of the concrete slabs.

Tony’s head whips around wildly, his footsteps staggering before they start picking up in speed, fear and panic plaguing him. Why was the Compound in pieces? Didn’t they bring back the Vanished? What had happened after—?

With no warning at all, the memories come flooding back. Tony stumbles to a sudden stop.

A foreboding shadow. Alien projectiles decimating the Compound to rubble within seconds. Panicked echoes of shouts. The sound of gushing water. A fleet of alien warcrafts looming in the skies. A Titan dressed in golden armor. Sheer numbers of enemies. The ensuing battles. The familiar chatter of a young teenager. A ruined gauntlet. Infinity Stones. Thanos. Running out of options. A wizard holding back an ocean. One chance. A snap. Dust. Faces appearing before him. One stony and resigned. Another teary and scared. The final a smiling face of pure, open love. Quiet, whispered reassurances.

His death.

Tony drops to the ground. He’s shaking. Slowly, Tony forces himself to take another look at his body. His corporeal form. The slight, unearthly glow. The lack of feeling. The darkened arc reactor.

Nothing disturbs the hero as his body doubles over and is wracked with uncontrollable shaking. None of the birds flying overhead, or the critters exploring the ruins of the Compound, even spare him a glimpse. No one is aware of his presence at all.

He is dead.

* * *

 

He had never imagined a quiet funeral for himself. His whole life was built on publicity and fame, cameras and questions, reporters and critics. His entire civilian life until the snap was filled with pristine, top of the art interior designs, expensive suits, exquisite cuisine, and futuristic technology. As Iron Man, his life was plagued by constant surveillance, cryptic laws, hysterical crowds, and explosive sounds.

Yet here he is, quietly observing his own send-off in front of the quaint little cabin Pepper and him had decided to call their permanent home years prior back when she had first found out she was pregnant. It is quiet. So, so quiet. Ever since Pepper had lovingly told him he could rest and he had awoken as a ghost, things have been so quiet around him. It was quiet when Tony had hitched a ride on the back of Rhodey’s pickup truck after his best friend had decided to stop by the ruined Compound for a quick sweep of the place. It was quiet when the truck rolled up and parked amongst a slew of other vehicles. It was quiet when Rhodey joined the group of 15 or so guests at the cabin, all the attendees conversing in low murmurs.

Tony is being hit by so many indiscernible emotions crashing into each other. He had quickly found out that no one could feel him when he touched or walked through him, not that he was expecting it. Trying to touch Rhodey’s shoulder as he walked back to his truck and getting no response had hit his heart with a heavy impact that he couldn’t describe. Having no eyes turn to him when he entered the living room filled him with a staggering sense of grief. The first time someone had walked straight through his corporeal form had left him shaking in the center of the room, letting out tortured whimpers in the midst of all his clueless friends and family who understandably didn’t turn to him.

Where there should be eyes on him, there isn’t. Before, he would’ve run from the chance of someone seeing him in an emotionally vulnerable state. Now, he just wants someone to look his way, to turn to him. He is willing to brave the pity and concern in their eyes in exchange for the comfort of someone’s warmth around him.

But now, he’s forever stuck with a heart-wrenching pain when Pepper and Morgan’s gazes don’t focus on him despite him standing right in front of them.

Tony breathes out a slow, shaky breath. He is leaning against the wall of the back porch, arms crossed as he watches the small gathering in front of him. No one had cried since he got there. Before, Tony would’ve taken that fact with an absurd amount of offense and a quiet sliver of hurt. But even without the presence of tears, Tony can tell everyone was feeling a huge array of emotions for him. His friends and family may be wearing blank faces that shift once in a while with some muted emotion, but they are feeling.

Tony is mainly watching Pepper and Morgan at the edge of the lake. His sweet, sweet buttercup is watching his arc reactor and its glorified floral floaty bob away in the gentle waves of the lake with innocent curiosity. Despite her young age, Tony can tell his daughter understands the heavy weight of the ceremony unfolding around her. Maybe she doesn’t really understand her father isn’t coming home. Maybe she can’t quite grasp the sheer rawness of emotions everyone is no doubt experiencing. But she understands that this is important, that they are doing something important for Tony. And so, despite the fact Tony knows that she hates standing still, she’s giving this weird flower boat her utmost attention.

Pepper. Sweet, sweet, loving Pepper. Tony’s heart is full of love for his strong woman who chose to stay by his side. Who quietly gave him the reassurance he needed in his last moments. Who is probably grieving heavily, but at the same time accepting his death and forging forward like the headstrong woman he knows she is. Tony’s heart is swelling with love for his wife. He loves Pepper. He so, so loves Pepper. She is his everything, _everything_.

And he will never be able to really be together with her again.

With a jolt, Tony is suddenly hit with loss. Pepper is now a widow, and a single mother. Morgan is going to have to grow up without her father. Rhodey will no longer have Tony hounding his ass with stupid jokes and scathing sarcasm. Happy will no longer be driving around a frustrating billionaire boss in his backseat. Peter will no longer have someone around to pull him out of tight situations.

Peter.

A scary chill runs down Tony’s spine. Peter no longer has Iron Man as a backup plan. Tony is definitely worrying about the others, for sure. But he knows they can handle themselves. The remaining heroes are annoyingly capable of dealing with any threat that comes their way. The final battle against Thanos more than proved that. There are now more heroes protecting the world than during the Chitauri invasion. Fury is just Fury. Harley never needed him in the first place, and is more than capable of handling his own. Rhodey is a disciplined military man with his head on straight. Happy is prone to heavy guilt trips, but sooner or later he’ll pull himself out of it with his tendency to latch onto another obsession as a life raft until he can find acceptance. Pepper never lets anything break her, and she’ll allow herself to feel discouraged sometimes but she’ll always find the strength to continue on from somewhere within. Morgan is young, and will soon start to miss her dad, but she’ll grow and age past his death.

But Peter? Peter is still learning. Spiderman is a young hero, still caught in the throes of adolescence. He had grown some level of maturity after the Vulture incident, but there is still so much that Peter has to learn and experience. Five years may have passed, but from what he remembers of the surprisingly vivid memory of seeing Peter living and breathing before him again, Peter is continuing on right from the moment he faded to dust in his arms on the planet Titan.

Aunt May will be there. So will Happy. And Rhodey. And Pepper for sure, given how often Tony gravitated to talking about Peter in the many breakdowns Tony had in the five years he was gone. But none of them will really be able to comfort him when he runs into the inevitable obstacles he’ll face as a self-driven hero. Rhodey may be War Machine, and Pepper may have made her debut as Rescue. But Rhodey doesn’t beat himself over that overwhelming burden to help _everyone_ , doesn’t embody as much of that self-hating perfectionist Tony and Peter know themselves to be. Pepper also doesn’t feel that heavy responsibility to a drastic degree—after all, she is first and foremost a mother. Morgan is her first and only priority.

Maybe Steve can be Peter’s mentor. But as Tony watches Sam and Bucky approach the old man sitting at the edge of the tree line, he finds that to be selfish. Steve had been fighting battles he couldn’t ignore for a long, long time. He, too, deserves rest.

Peter is alone.

Tony starts back to the cabin, his shoes making no sounds despite the blanket of crunchy leaves below him. He thinks Peter will be in the living room, waiting for May who no doubt is comforting her fellow widow at the moment somewhere hidden upstairs. But instead, he spots Peter’s familiar form in front of Morgan’s tent, easily discernible due to Tony having constantly been looking for his familiar grin in the past 5 years.

Tony makes his way towards him, stopping just behind his young protege as Peter watches Morgan crawl out of her tent with her Iron Man helmet.

“Woah, that’s a cool helmet,” Peter tells her. Morgan settles herself down at the entrance of the tent, turning the hunk of metal over and over in her hands.

“Daddy gave it to me. Which is weird, but I’m not complaining.”

Peter huffs out a little laugh.

“Why is it weird?”

“Because he’s Iron Man. Daddy kind of loves himself too much. But it’s okay, because I love him, too. I love him 3,000.”

Peter emits this strange, strangled chuckle as he shifts in the little wooden kiddie chair to lean closer. Tony watches the slight hitch in Peter’s shoulders quietly. There is no doubt in his mind that Peter is seeing him in his daughter’s scarily similar mannerisms. But there is nothing that he can do for him. Not anymore.

“Your name is Morgan, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling, Morgan?”

“Like I’m being interrogated.”

Peter laughs.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop asking questions.”

“No, you can ask. If you don’t, you’ll still wonder anyway.”

A small smile places itself on Peter’s lips.

“How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“Did you like the ceremony?”

“Not really. I don’t like having to stay still for a long time. But I like this dress. And the flower boat in the water was pretty.”

“I see.”

“What was the thing that Mommy put in the flowers?”

“The arc reactor? It’s your dad’s first—no, second? Well, it’s the arc reactor that powered the first Iron Man suits.”

“Why did Mommy put it in the lake? I thought Daddy really liked that thing. He always keeps it in his office. Won’t he be sad that Mommy put it in the lake?”

“Mr. Stark would understand.”

“You’re weird.”

“Why would you say that?”

Morgan puts on that angry pouty face Tony knows she makes because she’s displeased no one is a mind reader.

“Because you’re talking to me but I don’t even know your name. Ever heard of stranger danger?”

Peter snorts in amusement.

“I’m Peter.”

“Hi Peter, I’m Morgan.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. You called me by my name earlier. I’m just saying that to be nice. Mommy likes it when I use my manners.”

“That’s good. You’re a good kid, Morgan.”

“Thanks.”

The two sit in silence for a while. Tony shifts his attention to his daughter, who is opening and closing the helmet while lost in her young mind. Peter is lost in his own thoughts, too, gaze unfocused on the trees a few yards away.

“Do you know if daddy is coming back soon? I miss him.”

Peter can’t stop the flinch his body creates. Morgan looks at him funny.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. So?”

Peter stays quiet. Tony is training his gaze on the Iron Man helmet in Morgan’s lap. There’s a weird scuff mark where the nose should be. He wonders what made it.

“I miss talking with Daddy,” Morgan continues, probably having come to the conclusion that Peter isn’t going to say anything. “He would’ve said I talk to strangers all the time, and that I don’t care about strangers, so I can’t say that I’m actually scared of people whose names I don’t know when I’m always talking to them on the street.”

“You should be more careful, Morgan. Strangers can hurt you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. Daddy is Iron Man. He’ll always protect me.”

“But still.” Peter looks like he’s struggling to keep the kid-friendly mask on. Tony’s sadness is increasing tenfold. “Be careful.”

“Okay.”

“Morgan?” Pepper’s voice resonates through the trees. Morgan scrambles to her feet, throwing the Iron Man helmet into her tent haphazardly. Tony is a little hurt by the lack of consideration his kid has for his icon.

“Yes, Mommy? Bye Peter!” Morgan runs to the cabin, where Pepper is waiting for her at the stairs. Peter stays on the little wooden kiddie chair, watching, and Tony stays sitting next to him, watching him. Once Pepper and Morgan go inside, Peter turns away from the cabin and slumps in the chair, letting out a rushed breath as he plops his face into his hands.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony tells him. He knows Peter can’t hear him, and isn’t even aware of his presence. But god, Tony isn’t going to just sit and do nothing. “Hey. You’re going to be okay.”

“Goddammit. This isn’t fair,” Peter whispers between his fingers. After saying the Lord’s name in vain, Peter is silent. Tony knows his spiderling is torturing himself in his thoughts. He can practically follow the rampaging train wreck that is no doubt Peter’s mind at the moment.

Peter is probably still coming to terms with the fact that five years have passed since he got off the bus from MoMA. That he had just spoken to Tony’s five year old kid. That things are drastically different now. Tony had learned that it is currently two weeks after his death. Two weeks was probably enough time for Peter to reorient himself in the world, fully understand that he’s in a different era now. It must feel like time travel for him.

Peter’s still lost in thought. Tony decides to shift positions, sitting right next to Peter on the ground. He hesitates before leaning his shoulder against Peter’s left side. No one is around to see him anyways. Or rather, no one is able to. So he figures he can give in to a few more emotionally intimate bodily expressions.

“What are you thinking about kid?” he asks quietly. Peter, obviously, doesn’t respond. Tony’s feeling that same dark feeling of sadness pull at him, but he chases it away and rests his cheek against Peter’s shoulder.

Tony is glad that he is able to at least feel other people. While he may not have the comfort of feeling himself— _woah, bad way of putting it there, champ_ —he can at least feel contact from everything else. He can’t feel his own body heat, but he can feel Peter’s through the slightly big suit that the kid’s wearing. Tony takes solace in that fact, and the bittersweet freedom of being invisible.

Tony indulges himself with Peter’s comforting presence as he mulls over what to do next. He’ll probably stay with Pepper and Morgan. It’s Friday, so Morgan doesn’t have school the following day and Pepper doesn’t need to drive out to Manhattan for company business. She probably took a few weeks off work anyway. Pepper and the rest are probably going to go over his will tomorrow, figure out what to do now that stay-at-home dad is gone. Then, they’ll probably see the message he left in his helmet for them. After that, they’ll do something fun to lift their spirits. Take-out dinner maybe. They always have a movie night on Saturdays. And it’s a crime in Morgan’s book to skip it. Morgan will probably hate him for not being present for movie night, but she’ll forgive him once the movie starts rolling. He wonders what’s next on the list of movies they made. Or if Morgan will have a movie suggestion. Happy and Rhodey better stay for movie night. Those assholes hadn’t been attending recently, using the poor excuse of work eating up their time. They never even—

“Why am I so _weak?”_

“You’re not weak, Peter.”

Peter heaves a sigh. Tony bites his lip hard, never feeling as much regret for his ghostly status as he’s feeling right now. He feels his eyes water as that thought crosses his mind, pressing his head harder into Peter’s shoulder as if the teenager would be able to feel it.

“You’re not weak, Pete,” Tony whispers, letting a small tear escape his eye and settle at his temple. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“God, I should’ve figured out a faster way to get the gauntlet off. We could’ve just plucked the stones out. There was so much shit we could’ve done differently.”

“It’s okay, Peter. You did your best. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“I love you, Peter. I love you.”

Peter wipes away the few tears in his eyes and shakes his head. He’s probably trying not to break where people are likely to see him. Tony frowns as he watches Peter struggle to put back on the composed mask he’s so bad at wearing, full of regret.

He was never that much of a good mentor for Peter. In the five years of Peter’s temporary death, Tony found out exactly _how_ shitty of a mentor he was. Parenthood had made him realize a lot of things, and change the way he approached the world. Tony had grown more sympathetic and compassionate towards others when they were going through a difficult time. He learned to be more open with children, because unlike adults, they couldn’t see past the thick layers of defense he had composed of sarcasm and insults. He learned to be more forgiving with Morgan, more tolerant, and to compromise. He learned how to show his love, to be more loving, to actually give into normal types of human affection. And he wasn’t quite as allergic to emotionally intimate moments as before.

Well, not entirely.

Tony’s heart breaks as he remembers what he was like back then, hiding behind his dark and cutting humor. He had been getting there, with Peter. The kid’s puppy-like nature _was_ wearing down his jaded defenses. They had established a routine of Peter visiting the Compound after he got out from school on Fridays, and spending the whole of Saturday together just doing shit before he returned home Sunday morning. The kid’s brilliance in the lab was endearing, even if he was more oriented toward the biochemical sphere of things.

They would sometimes get dinner together during the week, either at some weird restaurant one of them wanted to try out or at the penthouse Tony and Pepper sometimes used. Sometimes, Tony would tag along with the kid on his spider patrols, sitting in the living area of the Compound and video calling Peter while the Baby Monitor Protocol fed him live footage of him swinging through the streets of New York. Peter had started to unconsciously pick up Tony’s sarcastic tendencies, and the times when they’d get into a roll with verbally ribbing each other were increasing in frequency.

He should’ve picked him up from school more often, instead of letting his disgust for emotional intimacy get in the way. He shouldn’t have dismissed the idea of decking Peter’s room in Star Wars decorations so quickly. He should’ve come to his birthday party when May invited him. He should’ve been more open with Peter, honestly told him exactly how good of a kid he was, praised him every time he came back home from patrol, rewarded him for his good grades. He should’ve hugged Peter more, should’ve ruffled his hair more. Should’ve kissed the top of his head while saying goodnight on the days he visited the Compound. Should’ve said “I love you.”

Should’ve been more of a father to him.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's Ronan, back at it again with a monster fic with a larger plotline. 
> 
> This is the fic I was hinting at towards the end of "Spiderman, Cosignee". It's the first time I'm trying my hand at writing in present tense, so bear with me if there are times when the tenses seem stilted or jarring. Present tense is supposed to be more filmic than past tense, as it gives the illusion of events happening at that very moment.
> 
> I've finished outlining the entire fic, and I've estimated/planned it to top off at 21 chapters. Updates will usually be weekly, but I've put up two chapters today just to start off. I didn't want to leave you guys with the angst that is the first chapter. As such, the third chapter will be up around May 25th, two weeks from today.
> 
> I'm hoping this fic will comfort the loss we all felt with Endgame, not by rejecting the deaths or sacrifices of our heroes, but by bringing you on a journey with Tony and Peter as they gradually move toward acceptance. Tony's death was sudden, unfortunately, and thus their goodbyes were brief. I think we're all feeling the loss of what could have been, what could have happened if Tony had survived. The friendships that could have formed. The closer intimacy of their relationships.
> 
> I hope all of you enjoy this fic. I appreciate comments about the story! Thoughts, questions, theories. Reactions to my work fuel me as both a writer and a storyteller.
> 
> This is a very long introduction note for the first chapter. Forgive me. Once again, I look forward to going through their journey together with you.
> 
> -Ronan


	2. Strange, Meet Strange

Being a ghost isn’t so bad.

For one thing, Tony’s able to get a sense of that normal lifestyle he always craved as a child born under the spotlight. He’s able to walk around undetected, not strictly under the cover of anonymity, but not garnering attention. He can sneak into movie theaters and watch the new movies now without having to buy tickets. He can sit in Morgan’s kindergarten class and watch his daughter paint a vase for Mother’s Day. He can freak random people out by intentionally walking through them and giving them a severe case of the shivers. It’s a good life.

He often wonders if he can do any of those things ghosts do in movies. Like open cupboards and pick things up. Whisper haunting messages in the ears of unsuspecting citizens. Possession crosses his mind a few times, but he’s not really into the idea. Though appearing and disappearing at will sounds like a cool thing.

But for right now, he’s working on how to walk through walls.

Tony is slowly growing bored of following Pepper and Morgan around all day. Morgan’s a sweet ray of sunshine in his life, but he isn’t eager to sit in a classroom full of rowdy 5 years olds for the rest of his ghost life. And Pepper just _works_. Tony wishes she’d go out and do something more fun so he could tag along and watch. May has been a solid support for his wife following his death, having already experienced the throes of being a widow and being left with a young child. She invites Pepper over for Sunday dinners every week without fail. Tony feels like this time Pepper will accept the invitation when May calls her up before she goes to bed tonight.

Going back to the issue of walls, Tony had found some problems with being a ghost right from the get-go. For one thing, he can’t interact with the physical and living world at all. Which also correlates to Tony not being able to escape a room if the door is closed. He ran into that little tidbit when he accidentally got himself locked in their bedroom after deciding to lay around lazily for the morning.

Tony is practicing the whole phase-through-matter shtick somewhere in Greenwich Village. He had arrived with Pepper, who had made an appointment to meet with the lawyer to smooth things over with Tony’s remaining assets. But Tony had spaced out for _one second_ , and in that one second time frame, he missed the opportunity to jump into the car Pepper was taking and was thus left behind on his lonesome in front of the lawyer offices in the prim and proper neighborhood.

He is _not_ looking forward to finding his way back home.

Tony is currently outside a mini supermarket, where the automatic doors are guaranteed to open every few minutes with the flow of shoppers in and out of the store. He’s standing a bit off to the side, trying to walk through the glass front of the market which is covered in advertisements and posters. There’s a mother and her wailing child exiting the store, the frazzled woman trying desperately to calm her kid to no avail. That’s kind of how Tony feels right now as he—for the millionth time—rams his face softly into the glass panels of the supermarket. Powerless and at the mercy of the cold, hard glass.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Tony recognizes the voice, but doesn’t particularly care to watch Stephen Strange on a grocery run. He vaguely remembers that Bleeker Street is somewhere nearby. He wonders if that dilapidated building they called a sanctuary actually has working appliances and a fridge to hold all the produce. And if that sentient cloak is okay after getting ripped up in battle. He had forged some sort of weird attachment to it on the donut ship all those years ago.

“Are you deaf or are you just ignoring me?”

Ha. Serves that stuck-up asshole right. Whoever that obviously self-loving person is, Tony applauds them. Tony’s resentment of the sorcerer didn’t fade along with his ashes back then. Although, now that he thinks of it, he doesn’t really hold that much resentment at all. Maybe it faded during the five years he was gone. Or maybe Strange naturally invoked disgust in the people around him, and that disgust only went away when he wasn’t there. It could go either way.

“Stark!”

Tony blinks.

“...Huh?”

In the reflection of the glass panes lining the front of the shop, Tony can see Stephen Strange’s scowling face looking right at him. Tony makes a disgusted face.

“You know, being a ghost isn’t all that bad. But I don’t want a twisted reflection of a magical neuroscientist following me in all the glass windows I pass from now on.”

“I’m behind you, you idiot.”

Tony turns. Stephen Strange is indeed behind him.

“Oh.”

Strange sneers at him, holding his handy tote bag full of produce in his arms.

_“Oh.”_

“Don’t mock me, you deluded witch doctor. Haven’t you watched a horror movie? You don’t fuck with ghosts, moron.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help but be concerned for your mental state what with you walking into the walls of a supermarket like a wound-up doll on repeat.”

“That’s the kind of ghost you’re supposed to avoid! The freaky, weird mentally questionable ghosts are the worst ones!”

Tony shouldn’t be telling Strange to ignore him. But after almost half a month without human interaction, he’s at a loss as to how to respond. So he reverts back to his natural, default setting—insults.

“You know, I’d expect you to be more friendly with the first human you’ve been able to talk to. But instead, you’re still the egotistical dickwad I remember you being.”

“Fuck you. You’ve been gone for 5 years. Like hell you can make judgements about me.”

Okay. It got a little too real there. Tony starts looking for an opportunity to bail.

“Oh look, my ride's here. Catch you on the flip side, doc!”

“Wait.”

Strange _stops_ him, putting a hand on his supposedly transparent chest. Tony’s not even taking the time to be surprised, jumping straight to getting angry at the fact that the sorcerer could easily handle his ghostly form when his biggest enemy at the moment is a door.

“What the hell do you want, Strange? And not to be a ‘dickwad’, but you do realize you look like you’re talking to a glass window, right?”

There are a few people on the sidewalks staring at Strange right now. Tony catches a few of them starting to pull their phones out. Not wanting to draw unwanted attention to the sorcerer—he _did_ learn to be less of a gleeful dick when it comes to other people’s suffering in the last 5 years—Tony presses his hand against Strange’s arm and drops the hostility.

“Look, I’ll walk with you. Just start walking. Come on.”

Strange doesn’t move, looking at Tony with a poorly masked expression of surprise. Tony steps away from Strange’s hand and tries tugging at his sleeve. The cloth doesn’t move. Tony bites down the irritated growl that threatens to surface and just starts walking in the general direction he thinks the Sanctum is. After a hot pause, Strange’s footsteps start following his and he finds the sorcerer at his elbow, quickly walking away from the supermarket and unsettled passerbys watching them go.

They weave through the light traffic of Greenwich Village in silence. Tony actually doesn’t need to dodge people since he could go right through them, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys doing so. Strange is quiet throughout the stretch of blocks they walk, taking the lead to bring them back to where everything started. Soon enough, they arrive at the front of the unsuspicious building housing the Sanctum. Strange starts up the steps, reaching out for the door.

He pauses.

Tony doesn’t know what’s going on when Strange abruptly turns to him.

“Excuse me for a second.”

Strange once again presses the flat of his palm against his chest—

—and _electrocutes_ him.

“OW! What the fuck?!” Tony yells, leaping back from Strange as golden tendrils of magic trickle over his corporeal form. He feels strangely contained, like he’s trapped in something despite being able to move about freely. What the hell did Strange do to him?

“Sorry, I need to take precautions,” Strange apologizes, finally turning around and opening the door. He steps inside, waiting just beside the entrance for Tony to walk up the stairs. “Additionally, the spells protecting the Sanctum wouldn’t allow you inside without some form of containment on your person.”

_Fucking Stephen Strange._

“Alright, you know what? Fuck this,” Tony hisses, clenching his fists at his sides. He starts to stomp away as Strange calls out to him.

“Wait, Stark—! Fuck. Look, I _—_!”

“Enjoy cooking dinner, you godforsaken wizard!”

“Goddammit, _Stark—_!”

Tony feels the pull of whatever spell Strange casts on him. With a shrill yelp he promises to remain in denial of, Tony finds himself being pulled back and straight through the front door of the Sanctum. A ripple of some strange magic flows through him when he passes the threshold. Tony gets dumped on his ass right in front of the grand stairs as Strange closes the door behind him.

“Strange, you son of a bitch—!”

“Stark, calm down—”

“Like _hell_ I’m gonna calm down, let me _go_!”

“I can’t. Not yet. If I release the spell on you, the Sanctum will immediately demolish your spirit—”

“For fuck’s sake—!”

“Stark, calm _down—_!”

He’s breaking. Tony knows he’s breaking. He can feel the familiar feeling of a panic attack on its way. The familiar tightening in his chest. The increasing shallowness of his breath. Tony senses Strange is starting to move his hand in a weird way and he _snarls_.

“You fucking cast another spell on me, you bastard, you’ll end up with a ghost with a hell of a grudge haunting your fucking house _._ ”

“Stephen, what in the _world_?”

“Wong, don’t come closer. His emotions are running high.”

“Well, obviously! What are you _thinking_?!”

The paralyzing feeling of fear has fully enclosed him now. The problem is, he doesn’t really know why. Sure, he may have a problem with Strange magically ragdolling him into the sanctuary, but that shouldn’t be enough to trigger a panic attack. There isn’t anything that would cause him to overthink its threat level at the moment.

Except for the fact that Strange basically has him at his mercy. That Strange has him completely under his control with his handy dandy spells. That even without his spells, Strange can see him and hear him and touch him. That Wong can probably do the same as well. That no one else is aware of his existence and thus would not know something happened to him if they decide to vanquish his spirit right then and there. That even if Strange gets rid of his stupid spell and he’s allowed to roam free, a closed magic door that doesn’t open as frequently as supermarket doors stands in his way. That he’s basically trapped and can’t blast his way out of it, or make some new mechanical invention out of little trinkets he finds lying around forgotten. That he’s no longer able to fight back as Iron Man or even as Tony Stark. And that he doesn’t really need to worry about escaping, because he’s already _dead_.

But he wants to escape. He wants to, because Morgan was supposed to start making paper flowers to go with the Mother’s Day vase and he wants to see his little girl make her first attempt at origami. And Pepper is definitely going to bring Morgan over to the Parker’s for the first time for Sunday dinner. He wants to see Morgan’s conversation with Pete over the dinner table, wants to see Peter show her his room, wants to see the panic on his face when she inevitably finds his Spiderman suit hanging in his closet because he’s an idiot and wouldn’t have thought about hiding the suit when Morgan comes over. He wants to see his two kids, wants to see Peter become the reliable big brother he always knew Peter could be.

Peter.

Peter. Peter. Peter. _Peter._ _Peter. Peter. Peter._ ** _Peter—!_**

“Fuck, Stephen, **_stop him_ **!”

_Crack._

* * *

 

Peter stops walking suddenly. Ned bumps into him, yelping as his textbooks almost slide out of his grip.

“Peter, what are you—?”

There’s a confused and distant look on Peter’s face. The two boys are ignored in the rush to the next period. Ned is growing concerned at Peter’s lack of a response.

“Peter? What’s up?”

Peter furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head a few times like he’s trying to hear something better. When he stops, he is wearing a conflicted expression on his face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

The warning bell rings. Peter and Ned are alone in the hallway now, aside from the few stragglers ditching class. Peter presses his lips together as he tries to quiet his Spidey Sense in his head.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, we’re late to Ferguson’s class for no reason then. Tell her we got held up by your locker, yeah?”

“Totally.”

 _Am I imagining things?_ Peter thinks to himself as he quietly mutters the excuse to their teacher. As he’s sitting down, Peter can’t shake the feeling of extreme terror he felt moments prior. _I have to be imagining things. Right?_

_But it really felt like I heard him. His voice, but not really. And he wasn’t… there. But it felt like him. It really felt like him._

Peter scoffs at himself as he rests his head on his palm, starting to engross himself in the lecture for today. It’s a continuation of last week as the school is trying to help facilitate the return of the Vanished students into the world by giving them a rundown of what happened in the past 5 years. Peter spaces out, fingers tracing the Iron Man sticker left on his desk by a previous student in an earlier period. It’s one of those tribute stickers for Mr. Stark, to honor his role in the return of the Vanished. Peter stares at the glowing eyes of the Iron Man mask, heart weary. _But it can’t be._

_Mr. Stark is dead._

* * *

 

“You are a fucking idiot.”

“You’ve told me that a hundred times already. I get it. I shouldn’t have thrown magic at him. It’s ingrained in my head now.”

“That’s what you say every time you screw up.”

“Look, I’m _sorry_. Okay? But in my defense, he didn’t want to talk in front of the grocery store. Which was weird, because I had fully resigned myself to looking like a lunatic in front of all those people.”

“You know spirits have highly strung emotional triggers, you idiot. Why didn’t you just talk to him about the spells?”

“I was panicking, okay?! He’s different now! He was all quiet when we were walking back. I didn’t know how to approach him!”

“It’s been 5 years for him. And we just learned the other day that ghosts tend to have somewhat different personalities from their living versions. What the hell short-circuited your common sense?”

“You know, you would be at a loss too if you had to see the man who probably cursed your existence for 5 years return to the land of the living, dead and depressed.”

Tony feels weightless again. He’s looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling that’s only a measly foot away from him. He’s probably floating, just like he was back when he first woke up. So he’ll probably drift down to the ground soon.

He’s feeling strangely discouraged at the moment. First, he’s trapped in the city and needs to find a way home on his own. Then, even after an hour of practice, he is still unable to phase through walls. Next, the first contact he gets with a human being is with Strange of all people. And finally, he’s kidnapped and trapped in the Sanctum Sanctorum with two freakish wizards who probably want to exorcise him. Strange witnessing him having a panic attack was the icing on the cake.

God, what a horrible day.

“You’re a fucking idiot. You should’ve just done this at the send-off.”

“His _mourning friends and family_ were there, you dolt. Did you really expect me to start talking to him around them? They’d think I was mocking him and his sacrifice. Half of the people there were the strongest heroes on earth—hell, the galaxy. They’d _murder_ me.”

“And then you _lost_ him, didn’t even think to put a tracking rune on his body.”

“He had just manifested that day! That would’ve killed him! And he was trying to comfort that ward of his. I can’t get in the middle of that!”

“Then you _wait_ until everybody _leaves_.”

“Wong, there was an interdimensional monster trying to tear into Thailand. Did you really think I could stay there much longer? Who’s going to save our favorite street stall?”

“You left him for a fucking street vendor?”

Tony wasn’t floating down. That was a problem. Maybe he needed to be in that weird sleep-state he was in before? It’s a possibility.

“You should’ve had me deal with him. I have more knowledge of spiritual entities than you do.”

“Wong, you didn’t even think ghosts were an actual thing until I told you I saw Tony Stark’s spirit at his mini funeral.”

“I would’ve at least done _something._ ”

“You’re just as cautious as I am about new situations. Don’t fool yourself.”

“Hmph.”

Tony misses his little girl. Morgan should be coming home from school right about now. He wants to see his buttercup. But he’s in New York City right now. And his house is 2 hours upstate. Maybe he should visit Peter and crash on his top bunk for now. Wait to go home until Pepper and Morgan come for Sunday dinner.

“But to think driving a ghost over the edge can be that simple. That’s not good. We’ll need to find a way to dampen his emotional triggers.”

“That’s ghost biology, you nitwit. Are you honestly trying to suggest we find a way to change a ghost from being a ghost? We barely have any books on them as it is!”

“Look, all I’m saying is that we need to form some sort of contingency plan if Stark can’t keep himself in check.”

“He’s been doing fine for the past few weeks, hasn’t he? And he matured emotionally over the years. He’ll be fine.”

“No, Wong, he won’t. That is exactly the problem here. He’s changed in the past 5 years. He allows himself to feel more emotions. Whereas before, he’d turn the other way the second he needed to be genuine with himself. He’s more emotional. Which is great character development, but not for his current state as a ghost.”

_“If only you could be this omniscient with your own self-absorbed attitude.”_

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing. Tony Stark would’ve been worse if he had stayed the same. A constant negative state of mind will turn a spirit into a poltergeist far quicker than one open to feeling.”

“Where did you read that?”

Tony doesn’t have the silence of that starry dawn from the ruined Compound to help him fall into that hypnotizing haze. So he decides to try and get rid of the problem.

“Will you both shut up so I can concentrate on getting myself down from here?”

“Stark?”

Tony sighs. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch the ceiling in front of him. A burning sensation hits his fingers. Tony frowns as the scorching quickly goes away, and soon finds he is able to touch things again. Carefully, he rotates his floating body so that he is looking down at Strange and Wong, who are looking up at him with wary gazes. Tony narrows his eyes at Strange’s discretely hovering hands.

“You throw a spell at me, and I will not hesitate to give you cold shivers for the rest of the week.”

“Relax, Stark. I learned my lesson.”

They’re being careful with him. Tony frowns down at the two sorcerers looking up at him with a vigilance worthy of SHIELD agents. He doesn’t like it. It reminds him of Natasha.

“Can you stop looking at me like I’m made of glass? And get the hell out while you’re at it. I need to concentrate in order to get down.”

“Stark, we’re not here to hurt you.”

Oh, boy.

“Is this an exorcism? Because I am getting the fuck out if it is.”

“No, it is not. We’re trying to _preserve_ you.”

“He’s not a piece of meat, dumbass.”

“Wong, I am getting _sick and tired_ of your jokes—”

“Guys, get _out_. I can’t concentrate if you’re here.”

“I can get you down faster with my magic—”

“I thought you said you learned your lesson!”

“I did! This is me asking for permission!”

“Guys.” Tony’s voice betrays him as it wobbles. He’s feeling the same vestiges of panic start to crawl up his limbs. “Can you please…?”

Strange pauses, taking a hard look at him. Then, he’s suddenly turning and shoving Wong out of the room.

“Hey, what—?!”

“You heard him. Get out.”

“Stephen, what on _earth—?_ ”

“Strange?”

Strange looks back up at Tony, halfway through closing the door. Tony’s fighting down the panic that was trying to overtake him. He thinks he’s succeeding.

“Can you leave the door open?”

“...Of course.”

Strange leaves the door open, but disappears from sight. Tony can hear the ensuing argument right outside in the hall.

“Stephen, what—?”

“Not here. He can hear us. Let’s go wait in the study room.”

Their footsteps disappear within mere seconds. Tony’s finding his breathing easier, falling easily and naturally. Slowly, he closes his eyes and drifts off, thinking of a distant time where Peter had decided he wanted to be a bit more in touch with nature and dragged him into a picnic on the Compound lawn. He remembers the delight in his kid’s eyes. The clarity of the sunny sky. The gentle breeze of that day. He remembers feeling warm and happy, comforted, as he listens to Peter drawl on about his ideas for a chemistry project and the previous day’s field trip to a museum.

When he opens his eyes, he’s on the floor.

* * *

 

When Tony finally feels collected enough for a conversation, he heads out into the hall. Stephen and Wong’s voices float toward him, and he follows. As he gets closer to one of the bigger looking doors in the hall, their conversation gets clearer.

“—saw him at their cabin. He was fine?”

“No. Actually, the man was a bit of a mess. I didn’t stick around to watch him cry on his living room floor, though. It would’ve been bad if we made eye contact at that time.”

“Socially, or…?”

“Wong.”

“Okay, okay. So that was the lowest point he’s been in. Probably.”

“I’m not sure. We lost him for two weeks, remember? We don’t know what he’s been doing this whole time.”

“Maybe he went to see that new movie everybody’s crying over? You know, the one people waited a year for?”

“What?”

“Well, he’s a ghost. If I were him, the first thing I’d do is go to the movie theater. It’s free, now that he’s invisible.”

“Okay. Wong—”

“I actually did go see that movie,” Tony interrupts, walking into the room. Strange and Wong jump at the sound of his voice, snapping their faces toward him in shock. It’s a satisfying feeling, being able to scare them now. Before, Strange’s stupid magical hijinks kept him constantly aware of everything that was happening around him. Now, it looks like he’s developed an immunity to his radar. “It was a trip. A group of die-hard fans started bawling right in front of me. I’ve never seen so much anguish and emotions in a room before.”

“Jesus,” Stephen mutters, turning his gaze to the ceiling for a brief moment. Tony’s lips curl in amusement.

“Nope. Just me. Sorry. And I can’t really confirm or deny his existence, either. I haven’t seen any angels so far.”

“Just take a seat, Stark.”

Tony chooses a chair at the little round table. He starts to reach out to pull it back, but then stops. Strange reads his mind, flicking his wrist. The chair pulls out on his own, and Tony is abruptly pushed back by the force.

“A little _warning_ would’ve been nice,” Tony grumbles under his breath. Strange rolls his eyes at him. As he sits down, he notices the dusty bundle of pages the two sorcerers have between them. It’s about 30 pages thick, with the material yellowed and worn with age. The sheets are bound together with an intricate pattern of thread. It looks weirdly cute.

“What’s that? A Sorcerer’s Guide to Ghostbusting?”

“No. It’s the research the Order has made on lingering spirits throughout the centuries.”

“That’s _it_? Oh boy. Well, luckily we have pop culture to inform the public on what to do if they see a ghost trying to walk into walls.”

“Are you still stuck on that? I wasn’t expecting to see you at Whole Foods, of all places. And you were being the weirdest ghost I’ve ever seen. Of course I was going to be surprised.”

Tony doesn’t answer. There are a million possible questions buzzing around in the back of his head right now, but he doesn’t really have the energy to start interrogating Strange.

Strange squints at him for some reason, then turns to the bundle of papers, flipping through them with practiced intentions until he finds what he’s looking for. He scans the page for a moment, then looks back up at Tony.

“You’re low on spiritual energy.”

Tony blinks.

“How do you know that?”

“You’re a lot fainter than you were at the marketplace. I can practically see all the details of the chair behind you.”

Tony looks down at himself. Now that he’s looking for it, he does notice he’s a lot less bright and translucent than before. Kind of like he’s fading away.

“Oh. Well, that makes your job easier.”

“I told you, we’re looking to _preserve_ you. Not blast you into smithereens.”

“I never said ‘blast’, I said ‘exorcise’. Would you really just blow me to bits if that was your goal?”

“Hehe. _Blow_.”

“Wong, get yourself together. We’re in a professional setting here.”

“Hey Wong, how’s it going? Your wife okay?”

“She’s doing well, thanks for asking. It was easy for her to get back into the swing of things. It’s like she never left.”

Strange groans. Tony gives him a cheeky face.

“You missed a lot while you were gone, cupcake.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

“So, what’s the dealio?” Tony begins, crossing his arms on top of the desk. He’s feeling more relaxed now that Strange and Wong aren’t treating him like he’s a dangerous virus that needs to be dealt with. “You saw me at the funeral? Why didn’t you say anything? I was weeping buckets.”

“I’ve never seen a ghost before, so I was unaware of what procedures are recommended in confronting one. So I kept my distance.”

“Huh. And why, exactly, aren’t we vanquishing evil beings?”

Strange just stares at him. Tony stares back, shrugging a little.

“What? I’m just curious.”

Strange blinks at him, then turns his gaze onto the shelf of books across from the group and just stares at nothing. Tony gives him a weird look. Upon finding that Strange isn’t going to give him an explanation anytime soon, he turns to Wong with a raised eyebrow.

Wong snickers.

“He feels guilty.”

Strange hits his fellow monk on the back of his head.

“Fuck you, Wong.”

“What? It’s the truth!”

“ _No_ , it is far from it. I’m doing this for research purposes. The Council already gave me their approval for it.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“I am _slowly_ running out of patience for you—!”

As the two argue, Tony is mulling over a lot of emotions. He knows Strange is only lashing out at Wong so he can avoid confronting Tony about Wong’s big reveal, and is secretly hoping he can cover it up with his lame excuses. Tony knows. Because he and Strange are similar in a lot of aspects, including the whole emotionally stunted thing. Though he’s had 5 years to grow. Seeing Strange now is reminding him of how he was like 5 years ago, and it’s a nostalgic feeling.

Woah. That was a weird train of thought to take. He feels like a grandpa.

On one hand, he’s feeling kind of flattered that Strange is taking pity on him despite being a cold douchebag. And it’s a testament to how he’s gained a modicum of humility in his 5 years of parenting that he’s readily admitting that instead of deflecting with wounded pride. But on the other hand, he doesn’t really know what to do. He was content with just watching things happen around him, with no one aware of his existence. It hurt sometimes, but it couldn’t be helped. He’ll probably have trouble with the fact that he’s basically powerless when he inevitably watches Peter get into some tough spots as Spiderman.

Strange suddenly turns to him in the middle of his argument with Wong.

“You’re not nearly as emotionally mature as you think you are, Stark.”

Tony snaps.

“Fuck you. Are you reading my mind?”

“I’m reading your emotions. Or rather, feeling them.” Strange raises one of his hands, which glows with a golden rune. Tony frowns in confusion. “The spell I put on you at the door? It’s a one way feeding line. I can basically feel everything you’re feeling right now, including that weird sense of accomplishment you just had with yourself a few moments ago.”

“Double fuck you.”

“Noted.”

“Heh.”

“Wong, if you don’t fix your thinking in the next five seconds, I’m going to—”

“It’s not my fault you’re giving such lame responses.”

“I’m being _polite._ This is how I _talk._ ”

“And this is how I cope. Sorry if I see the positivity in everything after the Vanished have come back to life.”

_“Positivity—?!”_

“Lay off of Wong, man. He’s happy. Let the guy throw some jokes around.”

Strange lets out a wrangled sigh. He drops his head in his hands. His normally perfectly groomed hair in mussed and frayed with stress.

“I hate you two. Why did you have to become friends in the five years I was gone?”

“Because we needed to find comfort in the remaining survivors when half of the world died.”

“You’re getting a little too deep there, buddy.”

“Sorry.”

“Look, Stark.” Strange sits back in his chair, frowning at the ceiling as he tries to remember what they were talking about. Tony decides to throw him a bone.

“Exorcism.”

“Oh, right—”

“And you’re not as stoic as you think you are. It’s so easy to read what you’re thinking. And I don’t need magic to do it.”

Strange just gives him a deadpan look that screams _really?_ Tony bites his lip, trying to fight the smile from giving him away.

“That’s some tough talk from someone who can’t control their facial expressions no matter how hard they try.”

Tony bursts out into laughter. Wong immediately joins him. Two of them high five each other while Strange resigns himself to dealing with the two idiots by his side. He stands up, robes swishing as he heads for the door.

“I’m getting something to drink. Wong, tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll get you some spiritual sustenance, Stark. To replenish your energy.”

Strange is gone before Tony can even say thank you. Tony turns to Wong, who has finally collected himself and is clearly shifting into work gear.

“So what’s the catch?” Tony asks. Wong gives him a wry smile, having already anticipated the question. The past 5 years have given Wong an idea of the way Tony thinks in these situations.

“You can’t turn into a poltergeist. The Council is willing to let you roam freely, but there isn’t much research in the workings of spiritual entities. One big fact is that ghosts are prone to high emotional spikes. They _feel_ emotions more often and with greater intensity than the living. Yet, they have less control over them. Mood swings are common. Not to mention that negative emotions, if strong enough, can completely trap a ghosts mind due to their sensitivity. Which often leads them into the quick transformation of spiritual energy to malicious energies that spiral out of control until the spirit loses all sense of itself.”

“Huh. I’m guessing if I turn into a poltergeist, you’re gonna have to kill me.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

Tony is keeping his mind carefully blank. But he knows Strange knows he’s muting his emotions. That damn feeding line.

“Stephen wasn’t kidding about the research, by the way. He _is_ curious about how ghosts work. And you’re the first subject we’ve had the pleasure of running into, strong and untainted by evil.”

“Wow. Way to make me feel like a lab rat.”

“But he’s mainly feeling sorry for you. Even if this was the only way.”

Tony hums, putting a lid on those emotions right then and there. He can tell Wong is starting to realize that it probably isn’t a good idea to freely converse with him like before, given his apparent weakness to emotion at the moment. It’s silent for a moment in the study room. There’s the muted sound of a clock ticking somewhere behind the bookshelves. He can hear Strange bustling about in a kitchen somewhere in the sanctuary, the clanging of cupboards and dishes echoing faintly in the halls of the Sanctum.

“...What have you been doing since you came back?” Wong asks, clearly at a loss. He’s struggling to find some point of conversation that wouldn’t trigger an emotional response.

Tony laughs, then begins telling him about his two weeks worth of ghostly excursions. Wong’s caution is pointless. Tony is always feeling something, no matter what he’s talking about. But he is so familiar with his self-sabotaging thoughts that he can easily recognize and stop himself from spiraling down that dark well of death, as long as he isn’t pressured like he was when he first came here.

Speaking of which.

“What happened to me, by the way? At the door.”

Wong’s face is carefully blank. Tony realizes it’s not something good.

“...You were starting to turn into a poltergeist.”

Tony snorts.

“Well, that doesn’t bode well at all.”

“I’m sorry, Tony. Stephen shouldn’t have pressured you—”

“Don’t apologize, Wong. We’re going to figure this out, okay?”

Wong nods. Tony takes a moment to revisit the two weeks since he first woke up at the Compound. He notices all the signs he had missed about his vulnerable state of being. His hair-trigger emotions. His complete breakdown at his funeral. Tony wonders why he didn’t turn into a poltergeist there.

Oh my god.

He could’ve hurt his family.

“Stop thinking, Stark!” And there comes Strange’s distant voice. Tony flips off the air.

“Fuck off, Harry Potter!”

“The spell Stephen casted on you is like an ankle monitor,” Wong says. An attempt to help him reset his course. Tony struggles to drop his thought train, using Wong’s words as a lifeline to distract himself from the heavy doors of self-loathing that were right behind that set of thoughts. He forces himself to listen to Wong, starting to wonder exactly how badly his right to privacy has been violated. “He can feel your emotions exactly the way you’re feeling them. He’s been struggling to handle it. It’s not easy, constantly feeling foreign emotions just as potent as his. If not more.”

“Oh?”

“He’s having trouble trying to distinguish between the two of you,” Wong continues, glancing at the door. Tony smirks. “It’s messing with his ability to keep a cool head. Mainly because _you’re_ hot-headed.”

“I wasn’t aware he had emotions of his own. And that hurts, by the way.”

“Get over it. And trust me, I question that myself everyday.”

“So he can’t read my thoughts, but he can feel my feelings? That’s weird.”

“It’s a learning experience for Stephen. He’s so pathetically unattuned to social interaction. So him predicting your thoughts based on the emotions you’re giving him will probably give him at least a modicum of tact. I don’t hold much hope, though.”

“Ha.”

“I had a feeling I was being slandered,” Strange grumbles as he walks back into the room. He’s carrying a circular little tray with 3 cups on it. The Sorcerer Supreme sets it down on the table. He hands the clay cup of steaming hot green tea to Wong, and sets aside his own mug of coffee.

In front of Tony, he places a tiny bowl-like cup of a startlingly Mediterranean blue substance.

“What the fuck is that?”

“An experiment. Try it.”

“An experi—? I’m a lab rat. I am totally a lab rat now,” Tony grumbles as he dips his head close to the rim of the tiny bowl to give it an experimental sniff. It smells sort of sugary. “And I can’t hold things. Actually, I don’t even know if I can _drink._ ”

“That is the accursed Casper’s Bowl. You can touch it. It was infused with a ghost’s energy long ago due to the child’s emotional connection to it.”

“Casper is real?”

“Stark, just drink the fucking thing.”

Tony tentatively closes his hands around the bowl and lifts. It comes up surprisingly well. The strange thing is he doesn’t feel the bowl in his hands. While he can feel the chair beneath him, the press of the table on his elbows, and the exasperated glare Stephen is shooting him, the bowl feels like nothing. Not even air. Just like how Tony can’t feel his body.

Tony places his lips on the bowl—it was really weird having to drink from a bowl he couldn’t feel—and tries to drink.

The weird blue stuff isn’t completely a liquid. It’s more of a slushie, really. Tony lets a small chunk plop into his mouth and sets the bowl down, chewing it curiously. He feels like he’s chomping on some weird candy concoction. It feels like a mix between a 7-Eleven slushie and sugar crystals. Tony thinks it’s a concoction best served cold, but he doesn’t mind the lukewarm temperature of the thing. Whatever it is.

“Is it good?” Strange asks uncomfortably. Tony holds in a snort. Wong was right. The man was deathly allergic to social interactions. He needed to go outside and meet people more often. Tony feels guilty for internally laughing at the sorcerer, who’s looking at him uncertainly.

Oh shit. He can feel everything he’s feeling.

“Yes, I felt all of that, Stark. Just stop thinking.”

“That’s a stupid suggestion, Stephen.”

Tony focuses on the weird slush. It’s a satisfyingly sweet. Not too sweet, but just enough to leave an impression. Like a satisfying potato chip. Thin and light, and leaving you wanting more.

Tony swallows the stuff. He frowns as a thought comes to him and he looks down at his stomach.

“What?”

“Nah, I was just worried you’d be able to see it go down my esophagus. Thank goodness you can’t. That’d be disgusting.”

Strange just sighs at him.

Tony feels a weird tingle throughout his body. Like a little burst of energy. Tony blinks and looks back down at the weird slush in the bowl. It reminds him of something he ate in California. Oh! That blue algae bowl they served in that overpacked, chic cafe. It looks precisely like that! Peter would’ve loved to eat there. The sophomore wasn’t really a fan of Instagram, but he’d definitely be awed by the pretty looking food.

Tony doesn’t like that little shiver Strange unconsciously lets out. It betrays just how much love he has for Peter. And he wants to keep that to himself. At least for a little while.

So he redirects his train of thought back to the algae bowl and compares the two. The thing Strange gave him is much more vivid, with an almost unearthly shade of blue. He wonders what Morgan would call it—

“It seems to be really potent, Stephen. He’s a bit more opaque now.”

“Stark, eat more of it.”

As Tony complies, he tries to put himself in his daughter’s shoes. What would Morgan call it? He thinks she’d probably come up with some uncomfortably obvious name like “ghost food”.

Yeah. She’d call it ghost food.

“He’s getting better quickly. What on earth did you put in that bowl—?”

“Stark, what were you thinking about when you first took a bite?”

Tony blinks at the sudden question. He finishes off the ghost food and sets the bowl down, frowning at Strange in confusion.

“What?”

“I asked what you were thinking. You were clearly thinking about something.”

“Uh, it looks really pretty?”

Strange presses his lips together. Wong is giving his coworker an equally weird look.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I felt…” Strange makes a face. Tony can’t hold in the snort this time.

“That’s called _emotion_ , mister genius-neurosurgeon.”

“No. It was different.”

“Well, duh. There are different kinds of emotions—”

“It was astoundingly clear,” Strange interrupts, turning to Wong. Obviously, he decided Tony wasn’t worth the effort to talk to. “It completely overpowered my own. It was different from all the other emotions.”

“Maybe it’s because he was eating that...stuff?”

“But it was one emotion only. And if we follow that line of logic, then I would’ve felt all of his emotions to a stronger degree the entire time he was eating it.”

Wong just stares at Strange blankly. Strange sighs, rubbing his face tiredly.

“You know what? Nevermind. It’s probably nothing. That was simply porridge. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Where the fuck did you learn to make watery, blue porridge? And why would you add food dye?”

“I didn’t make it turn blue. The bowl did. I’ve tried putting food in that bowl in the past—”

_“You tried to put food in Casper’s Bowl?”_

“Easy there, Wong. You’re getting worked up over a dead kid’s childhood dish.”

“—and everything, no matter what I put in it, turned that same shade of blue. When I tried eating it, it felt like I was eating nothing. And it never satisfied my hunger.”

“And you ate the food you put in the cursed bowl of Casper. Of course.”

“It was just putting two and two together,” Strange continues, turning to Tony once again. He fixes him with a dead stare. “I actually didn’t know if it would work. Or if you could even pick up the bowl. Or drink from it.”

Tony doesn’t even bother ribbing him with insults.

“I can see what you mean by him having no tact, Wong. I can see that very clearly now.”

Wong face plants onto the table and quietly groans. Tony glances at the bowl, frowning a little as he looks at the inside. There are only a few stray drops of the porridge left. Tony wonders why it was so sugary.

“What did you put in it?”

“Uh. Oats, milk, and sugar. I would’ve added fruit, but I’m not ready to see blue strawberries just yet.”

“Huh.” So that was what that weird thick taste was. Milk. “Well, I’m glad you’re a good cook. It must suck to stay inside all day and never eat out.”

“...huh.”

Tony suddenly gets irritated at Strange.

“I’m complimenting you, you idiot.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing…”

Tony rolls his eyes. Strange looks confused before he realizes the situation.

“Oh. No. I’m not thinking lowly of you. It’s just that you aren’t really the picture of a ghost, according to the readings.”

“What?”

“You’re strangely...okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ghosts are characterized as spirits who are clinging to wishes and regrets,” Wong explains, bringing his head up from the table. There’s a little red mark on his forehead from where it was resting on the table. The older sorcerer quickly readjusts his position in his chair, correcting his posture. Apparently they were starting the serious talks now.

“Past studies have indicated that ghosts follow what they term an ‘Obsession’. It’s a person or object that is the subject of their unresolved feelings. Normally, the regrets associated with an Obsession are absurdly strong, and that is theoretically the reason that keeps a spirit from moving on.

“Ghosts are instinctively drawn to their Obsessions. They gain strength the closer they are to it. It’s literally a haunting. They normally don’t leave their point of interest for any reason at all.

“But apparently, you can roam around freely. We were thinking that since Stephen saw you at your home, you’d be haunting there. But when we tried to pay you a visit, you were gone.”

“Was anyone else home?”

“No. It was completely empty.”

“Oh. I might’ve been with Morgan at her school. Or with Pepper.”

“Well, we kept missing you. Just two days ago, we tried to look for you at your daughter’s school.”

“Okay, _that’s_ a little creepy. And I was at the zoo. In the lion enclosure. It’s a really surreal feeling, jumping on top of the kings of the savannah.”

“Okay, Stark,” Strange says. The sorcerer looks a bit exasperated, but otherwise plows on. “Do you feel anything strange? Perhaps an urge to go somewhere?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then what’s keeping you here?”

Tony purses his lips.

“I don’t really know.”

“Do you have any regrets? Any wishes?”

“What is this, a therapy session?”

“Focus, Stark.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously, I’d like to be alive and with Pepper and Morgan. But I’m also completely okay with being dead.”

“O….Okay.” Strange looks lost. Wong isn’t that far behind.

“You know, I really wish it didn’t take death to make you this honest,” Wong tells him. Tony gives him a small smile.

“Not death. Rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronan here!
> 
> Stephen Strange is going to be a constant presence in this. One of the things I lamented about Tony's death was that there would no longer be any chances for Tony and Stephen to interact with each other. I think we can all agree that they would have had an interesting sort of friendship, if they ever attempted it.
> 
> Admittedly, Stephen will be a little out of character in this fic. I can give a hell lot of excuses, like Tony's emotions messing with his head or something. But I will admit that I kind of let his character drift away from canon while I was planning the story. It'll be in the same sense as Tony. Tony probably doesn't feel like the MCU Tony Stark to you all.
> 
> Please leave some comments about your thoughts so far!


	3. The Warmth of a Hug

Strange isn’t allowed to take off the weird emotional fishing line. It’s a precaution. Tony and the sorcerers spend the entire day talking about ghosts, except for the few hours when they had to go find some sort of magical artifact that was negatively affecting the reefs of Australia. During their talks, the sorcerers learn a lot about ghosts due to Tony’s first-hand testimony, jotting down notes when something of interest came up.

But Tony also learns exactly how dangerous poltergeists were.

Apparently, poltergeists were much more than angry, malicious ghosts that leapt at any possibility to kill people that enter their house of haunting. They were basically dense evil energies, constantly evolving with the spiraling dark thoughts that created them growing darker and darker. 

Ghosts by themselves can’t possess people. Which sucked, but well, Tony isn’t all too bummed out about it. Poltergeists, on the other hand, thrive off of possession. Aside from negatively affecting the energies of anyone they come across, they can instantly turn people into murderous beasts the second they come into contact with them. 

And those people can’t turn back.

“We haven’t found a cure for the aftermath of possession,” Strange says, leafing through the pamphlet. Tony is slowly realizing the importance behind that small booklet. It is literally all they have. “Luckily, poltergeists aren’t as common nowadays. But they were certainly common in harder times.”

“Why hasn’t anyone found a cure?”

“Because in order to figure one out, you’d need to get close to a poltergeist. And getting close to a poltergeist means death.”

“Wow. Dramatic, much?”

That isn’t all. Tony learns that poltergeists never stop growing. Their malice had no end, no limit, and would only grow stronger and stronger, like a really stubborn disease. Thankfully, the sorcerers know how to kill poltergeists. They just had to get to them before they got too big, too strong.

Killing them wasn’t easy, though. It was like catching air. A sorcerer had to basically vanquish the entirety of the being’s malicious energy in an instant. Otherwise, the remnants fueled by dark thoughts would instantly snap and rebuild themselves, faster than a mere instant, back with an even stronger vengeance to kill whoever harmed it.

Tony tries not to think about how he could have killed everyone at the funeral.

The emotional fishing line is more than just a monitor. Tony learns, after Wong and Strange cast each other careful looks, that at any given moment, Strange can kill him. That strange instant of deep, deep pain he felt when he was slowly transforming into a poltergeist? That was just a taste of it. Strange basically used the deadly connection to knock him out so he could stop Tony’s spiraling thoughts from descending into madness. That same connection could kill him before he even knew it was happening.

Tony has the feeling that the fishing line is a lot riskier for Strange than he’s letting on. When they’re finished for the day and Strange stands up, Tony catches Wong’s eyes flicking minutely to the golden rune in Strange’s hand with a conflicted face. They bid goodnight to Wong, who opens a sparkling golden portal back to his home without much fanfare. The second the portal closes, Tony turns to Strange and fixes him with a stare.

Strange ignores him, walking out of the study room. Tony narrows his eyes as he follows Strange down the hall and up the stairs, heading for the bedrooms. When Strange stops at the landing and turns, Tony doesn’t falter under the sorcerer’s resigned glower.

“So? What’s your catch?”

Strange sighs. He brings his hand with the golden rune up for inspection. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes carefully trained on the golden magic.

“It’s a strong spell that feeds all of your emotions straight into me without a filter. Seeing as you’re a ghost, your entire existence revolves around emotions. I’m basically connected to your life force.”

Tony keeps staring. Strange drops his hand and cuts the shit.

“If you turn into a poltergeist, the connection will immediately turn me into a victim of possession.”

Tony sucks in a slow breath.

“So you need to kill me before I completely turn.”

“Yes.”

“Can you do that?”

Strange gives him an irritated look. He’s not good at hiding his emotions. Tony can easily see the hesitation in his eyes.

“Yes. I can.”

“Strange.”

“Shut up, Stark.”

“Why don’t you just kill me now?”

Strange flinches. Before Tony can amend his words, make the blow softer, Strange stalks down the hall, red cloak billowing behind him.

“Go find a bedroom, Stark. We’ll figure out your living situation tomorrow morning.”

* * *

 

Turns out they aren’t going to be discussing living arrangements anytime soon. Tony wakes up and finds the Sanctum empty. When he wanders into the kitchen, there’s that same haunted ghost bowl with the same blue ghost porridge he ate the day before sitting on the kitchen counter. And a note. Tony tries to pick it up to read, only to find he can’t pick it up. A little current of irritation runs through him as he bends down to read it.

_ Stark, _

_ An emergency came up in a parallel dimension. Eat the porridge. Wong and I want to see if maximizing your spiritual energy will allow you to interact with the living world. _

_ If you somehow figure out how to phase through objects, don’t phase through anything in the Sanctum. The doors sometimes lead to different realities. So if you leave, refrain from using the front door. The parlor window is open so you can get in and out.  _

_ Don’t be an idiot. _

_ – Stephen _

Tony doesn’t know if he should feel touched or insulted.

He finishes the porridge quickly enough, and discovers he can use the bowl as a physical tool to interact with other objects. So he takes some time pushing around Stephen’s note with the bowl, prying the cupboards open with the bowl, and turning the kitchen sink on and off with the bowl. He decides to go out with the bowl to try and interact with things outside, but after catching a glimpse at the floating bowl in a mirror he passes, he realizes he’s being the idiot Strange thinks he is.

After setting the bowl back on the kitchen counter, Tony returns to the mirror. It’s unsettling, having no reflection. Tony tries all the mirrors in the building that he can reach. There’s one mirror in the library that’s somehow able to reflect his ghostly image back at him. Tony infers that it’s a magic mirror and decides he won’t risk touching it.

He leans closer to his reflection. He looks okay. Like himself. Except he has no color to him. Tony tilts his head, scrutinizing himself. Actually, he might have a slightly blue tinge. No doubt that’s a consequence of the dead kid’s bowl. Tony’s glowing a bit, too.

His hair isn’t combed. He’s unable to pick up a hair comb, so now he just resorts to using his fingers to untangle his locks. His hair is left extremely fluffy. Which is weird. He’ll need to take a shower to get it back to normal. But can he even take a shower? Would the water droplets fall through him or hit him while he remains dry? Tony mentally notes that as a possible experiment. Hopefully one he can conduct on his own.

His goatee hasn’t grown at all. Tony thinks his hair won’t grow anymore, and that he stopped aging. If he cut his hair somehow, would that forever be his hairstyle? Tony realizes that ghosts have much more at stake than humans do when they get haircuts.

His clothes aren’t battle worn. There are no tears, no blood. Tony fingers the nanotech unit on his chest. He wonders why it doesn’t work. Probably because despite it having turned into a ghostly object, it still wasn’t meant to be mentally controlled by a ghost.

Tony is unsettled by the lack of the comforting blue glow on his chest. He turns away from the mirror, deciding he’s going to get some fresh air. He finds the parlor easily enough, off to the side of the front entrance. Tony eyes the door warily as he passes it. When he comes to a stop in front of the promised open window, he takes a moment to stare at the people passing it, unaware of his presence.

“What if you get robbed, you idiot?” Tony mutters to himself as he starts climbing out. It’s a tight fit, but he manages. Tony has a feeling Strange chose the smallest window specifically so he could fuck with him. “Maybe he’s got some kind of anti-theft spell. Man, the money he could rake in with that.”

Tony finds the park where he fought that big alien guy unable to speak English. As he approaches the fountain, he remembers looking up and seeing Peter save him from a nasty punch from a solid hunk of metal. He plays over Peter’s quips, their back-and-forth, just like he did for 5 years. Tony sits at the edge of the fountain, sighing as he looks over the trees toward the tops of the farther New York buildings—

—and sees a huge, leaping green man.

Tony blinks. 

_ Fuck. _

* * *

 

_ “Hey, baby cakes. On your four.” _

Peter slings a web at the approaching killer robot and pulls. The robot slams into concrete within a second.

“Thanks!” Peter yells, but Falcon—no, Captain America—is already flying away. Peter sighs, crawling down the building as the last few robots are mercilessly destroyed.

The transition back into a world 5 years later was hard enough in his civilian life. Now, Peter has to find a way to transition with the new situation in his hero life. Spider-Man is now an Avenger, though one focused on New York City. The Avengers team is also going through some major changes.

Iron Man and Black Widow are gone. Captain America had been succeeded by Falcon, who’s struggling to fill his shoes. Hawkeye is still on the roster, but has been taking a backseat to things since his first priority is his family. The Hulk is still around, and had been around, for the last 5 years. It’s Bruce who’s most familiar with the people now, Peter thinks, as he walks toward where the green man is demolishing the last robot on the street, surrounded by flashing smartphone cameras and eager fans. Despite having a busted right arm, Bruce refused to stay on the bench for “measly robots” and had jumped into the action the second the distress call came to him.

“Hulk! Hulk, can I get an autograph?!”

“Can I get a picture with you?!”

Bruce doesn’t notice Peter’s approach and turns to his fans, laughing as he complies with their wishes. Peter stops where he is on the street, hands on his hips as he watches all the fans immediately crowd around Bruce. He laughs.

“Karen, looks like the Hulk has gotten popular over the years we’ve been gone, huh?”

_ “Indeed. I have found precisely 1,237 websites and accounts dedicated to the Hulk alone.” _

“Mm-hm. Good job, Karen.”

It seems like he has been forgotten by his new team. Falcon—no, Captain America, god, this was confusing—had already left. Rhodey, who hadn’t felt the need to assist and had decided to stay at the half-rebuilt Avengers Compound to keep comms running, had already cut the lines. Peter swallows the bitterness in his chest and starts walking toward the press vans hovering near Hulk’s crowd.

“Spider-Man! Spider-Man, a moment please!”

“Karen, can you switch on the voice modifier?”

_ “Roger that.” _

The Avengers had decided a week or so ago that Spider-Man would be in charge of fielding the press during informal events. The young hero had always had a good relationship with New York’s general public, despite the malice the media had for him. Public opinion of him had merely risen once he came back from the dead. (Clint had told him, “Absence makes the heart grow fond.” He never knew Hawkeye had a penchant for poetry.) As Peter leaps into the air above the reporters, earning a crowd of gasps and a few squeaks, he wonders if he’ll be able to put “experienced with public relations” on his resume in the future.

“Hey, guys!” Spider-Man greets peppily, landing onto one of the news vans. The reporters start clamoring around him as he takes a seat on the edge. “Woah, woah, one at a time, people. We took down those robots to make sure no one gets hurt, so don’t trip and leave our efforts in vain, okay?”

“Spider-Man! Has Captain America gained the ability to fly?!”

“Uh, no, actually. He has carbon-fiber wings. Falcon decided he wanted to keep them and combine it with the shield since he doesn’t have super soldier serum like Steve Rogers.”

“Where is Steve Rogers now?!”

“I’m not sure, actually. No one really tells me these things. I’m a bit of a new guy to the team.”

“Are the rest of the Avengers coming back to reform the team?! Where’s the Scarlet Witch?!”

“Hey, now, buddy, that’s two questions! Uh, we’re kind of taking it easy after that huge battle upstate. But everyone’s always on call, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Does the world really need the Avengers after their failure five years ago?!”

Spider-Man’s eyes narrow dangerously.

**“Who said that?”**

* * *

 

_ What is he doing? _

Tony arrives just in time to find Spider-Man hopping onto the roof of one of the news vans. At the sight of reporters clamoring around him, Tony expects him to swing away. But no. Instead, Peter sits at the edge of the roof and starts taking questions.  _ What on earth? _

Tony leans against the hood of the van, looking up at the red and blue superhero, just watching him. Peter’s obviously got some practice in fielding questions. The reporters are much nicer to him than they were to Tony. Which is expected. Spider-Man has always been the people’s favorite.

“Does the world really need the Avengers after their failure five years ago?!”

“...Who said that?”

Tony winces. He bets this is Peter’s first confrontation with anti-heroic sentiments. Tony clumsily tries climbing up to where Peter is, slipping a few times. God, he is so thankful no one can see him anymore. Otherwise, this would be embarrassing.

A hand is raised in the crowd. Tony climbs over the windshield and manages to get onto the roof as the person—a blogger, good riddance—continues, unaware of the discomfited looks the reporters are giving both him and Peter.

“The Avengers were the reason behind the Dusting—”

“No. Thanos is.”

“—and were too powerless to stop it—”

“They reversed it.”

“—so are the Avengers really qualified to protect us if they couldn’t prevent half the population from disappearing?”

Peter is deathly silent. Tony cautiously makes his way to his side, despite knowing he is incapable of making any sounds. As he sits down next to him, he sympathizes with the worried reporters who are shuffling a bit in discomfort. Spider-Man’s unblinking white eye lenses are an unsettling sight to see when he’s perfectly still.

The blogger definitely holds no sense of tact as he pushes his voice recorder up closer to Spider-Man’s legs.

“Can I take your silence as agree—?”

Peter’s leg is a blur as he kicks the recorder out of the blogger’s fingers, sending it hurtling through the sky. The blogger cries out in surprise, clutching his fingers to his chest and wondering how they survived the hit. Tony trains his surprised eyes on Peter, who is keeping his unsettlingly steady gaze on the blogger even as the recorder crashes into pieces a whole block away. The reporters had flinched when Peter kicked the device out of the blogger’s hands; now, they’re looking up at him in fear.

Civilians aren’t supposed to be scared of Spider-Man. Spider-Man is good—the people’s hero. What is Peter  _ doing? _

“Please understand that sacrifices were made to return the world to what it was,” Peter says in a cold, clipped voice. The blogger, finally, gets the message and falls silent.

There is an uncomfortable pause as the reporters eye one another warily. Peter stays sitting on top of the van. Tony knows the media are used to the Avengers bailing when they lose their temper, fleeing to cool down and prevent the situation from escalating further or fueling the paparazzi sharks. So Peter’s lack of movement is throwing them off-kilter.

Eventually, a woman raises her hand. Peter nods toward her.

“Yes?”

“May… May I ask for Black Widow’s whereabouts?”

“Dead.”

Peter didn’t even hesitate. He’s so, so still. So static. Tony is far gone with worry.

“What happened to…?”

“She was sacrificed to bring us back. That’s all I’m allowed to say.”

Another reporter raises their hand. Spider-Man nods toward him.

“Will anyone be taking up Iron Man’s mantle?”

Peter doesn’t answer immediately. Tony has never hated the Spider-Man mask as much as he does now. He hates how Peter’s expressive face is hidden behind it. He hates the persona the mask holds. He hates how heavy the mask’s responsibilities have become. Hates how heavy the burden the kid carries has grown.

Hates how despite it all, Peter will still pull the red fabric over his head.

“...No. Not likely.”

* * *

 

When Peter ends the impromptu press conference after telling them the details of the attack, he stands up and shoots a web at a nearby building. Tony, being the hot-headed idiot that he was, throws his arms around Peter, not wanting to let him go just yet. As they launch into the air, Tony realizes just how bad a decision that was.

He is fucking terrified.

Tony keeps his eyes tightly closed, not wanting to see the dizzying rush of New York buildings flying rapidly past them. He’s pretty sure he’s able to vomit up ghost food, and he doesn’t want to curse someone below them with the invisible remains of Strange’s porridge on their heads.

Peter suddenly lands somewhere. Tony opens his eyes, looking around. He’s clutching Peter so hard, he’s surprised Peter’s still unable to feel it. Once he verifies that they are on a still, unmoving alley, he untangles himself.

Peter walks toward his backpack, webbed up where no one can see it behind some abandoned window planters. He crawls up the wall to get it, then jumps back down. As Peter starts to pull out his clothes, Tony nervously looks around them. Was the kid really going to change in an alleyway?

There’s the sound of a phone ringing. Tony turns back to find Peter in nothing but his boxers, stuffing his suit into the confines of his backpack with his clothes on a pile on the ground. Once he zips it up, he digs into the clothes pile—still practically naked—and pulls his phone from his jeans. He answers the call.

“Hey, May.”

Tony wishes Peter stored his backpack in an abandoned apartment building or something. He wonders if the kid has an exhibitionist streak or just doesn’t care what people think of a naked teenager in a shady alley putting his pants on in broad daylight. May should probably talk to him about that.

“I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Tony watches in resignation as Peter zips up his jacket. He slings his backpack over one shoulder, keeping the phone to his ear with a pinched expression on his face. Tony realizes it’s the first time since the funeral that he’s seen the kid.

“Really? They’re coming over?” A pause. “You’re not cooking, are you?”

Tony smirks as he follows the kid down the street towards his apartment. He knew Pepper was going to say yes this time.

“Okay. Okay! I swear I’ll clean. Yeah, yeah. See you after work. I love you. Bye.”

Peter stuffs the phone back into his pocket as he walks into the lobby. Tony hurries in behind him, skipping past the metal. The elevators are down—as they always are—so Peter heads up three flights of stairs to his apartment.

Tony almost gets locked out, but he manages. Once he’s inside, though, he’s free. Tony dashes inside Peter’s room before the kid gets there, taking in the small space. 

Nothing has changed from the last time he came here to expose his broken ankle to his aunt. Or the times he dropped by during the 5 years Peter was gone, to either talk with May or step into Peter’s room for a while. Strangely enough, May didn’t have the heart to clear out the room even when she had moved past Peter’s death. It became a twisted sort of shrine to the teenager she housed under her roof for a majority of his life.

Abruptly, he wonders if Pepper remembered to restart the food allowance for the Parkers now that Peter was back. Right after the thought crosses his mind, Tony snorts at himself. Of course Pepper remembered. It’s Pepper.

“Oof.”

Peter tosses his bag by the door and walks straight to his bed before flopping on top of it. Tony makes his way to him, sitting on the bed sheets next to the silent teenager. Everything smells like Peter. He misses this smell.

Before Tony can go on a journey of nostalgia, Peter’s phone rings yet again. Peter adjusts himself, sitting on his bed up against the wall as he digs into his pocket for his phone. Tony scoots closer, leaning against him. He sees the face of one of Peter’s friends on the screen before Peter swipes and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Ned.”

_ “Dude, why did you do that?” _

“Do what?”

_ “Uh, kick that guy’s voice recorder out of his hands? People are saying Spider-Man’s an asshole now.” _

They’re so close that Tony can hear the other side of the conversation this time. Peter plays with a stray thread on his jacket as he continues talking to Ned.

“I lost my temper.”

_ “Really? In the video, you look normal.” _

“Meh.”

_ “Peter, it’s starting to trend on Twitter. Isn’t this bad?” _

Peter lets his hand drop into his lap. Tony wants to hug Peter.

“Maybe. So what if it is? It’s not like they’re going to stop me from saving people.”

_ “Uh, do you remember the Accords?” _

“They got rid of it five years ago when we vanished, dude.”

_ “Still. It doesn’t mean it can’t happen again, right? You gotta be careful, Peter. _ ”

“Yeah, yeah—”

_ “You don’t have Iron Man to cosign the Accords with you anymore.” _

Peter’s hand clenches. Tony is mentally cursing (and applauding) whoever Peter’s friend is on the other end.

“Ned. Not cool, man.”

_ “Sorry. Sorry. Yeah, that was a dick move. I’m sorry, Peter.” _

There’s silence. Tony gives in and puts his arms around Peter, hugging him tightly. It’s a little difficult, what with the wall directly behind them, but somehow Tony manages. Peter doesn’t say anything for a long while after Tony buries his face into Peter’s hair.

_ “Peter? Hey. Peter.” _

“Yeah?”

_ “Are you okay? I’m sorry for saying that. Really, I am.” _

“No, no it’s okay. I swear.”

_ “Yeah?” _

“Yeah.”

_ “Oh. Why aren’t you saying anything then?” _

Peter falls silent again. Tony hugs him a little tighter.

“I feel… weird.”

_ “What?” _

Tony pulls back to look at Peter. Peter’s eyes aren’t focused on him, but they’re narrowed in concentration. He looks like he’s thinking really hard, or trying to hear something that isn’t there. Tony scrunches his face in confusion, mirroring the spiderling in front of him.

_ “Peter. What’s wrong?” _

“I don’t know. I just feel… warm. But not in a bad way.”

Tony immediately places a hand on Peter’s forehead, checking his temperature. Normal. That doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong.

_ “Do you have a fever?” _

“No, it’s not like, a sick feeling or something. It’s like…”

Tony waits impatiently for Peter to find his words.

“It’s like I was being hugged or something.”

Something drops inside him. Tony knows that Strange is definitely feeling the conflicting emotions he’s experiencing right now. He hopes it isn’t distracting him from whatever monster he’s fighting right now.

_ “...Oh.” _

“Yeah, I know,” Peter responds, settling back against the wall. He relaxes again, seemingly comforted as he continues. “It’s weird, right? But there’s no other way to describe it.”

_ “Are you still feeling it?” _

“No, it stopped after a while.” Peter scratches his head. Tony feels all his emotions fall quiet and he just sits there, blankly, staring at Peter who still remains blissfully unaware of his presence right there next to him. “My Spidey Sense has been sort of humming for a while, too. But it’s not a bad kind of humming, either.”

_ “Maybe you should get checked out by a superhero doctor. It could have something to do with your powers.” _

“Eh. I’ll check in with Dr. Banner if it keeps happening. Anyway, I’m gonna go take a nap. I’m seriously tired after fighting all those robots.”

_ “Oh, yeah! You know the Hulk now! What’s he like in—?!” _

“Ned.”

_ “Right, right. Geeking out, sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” _

“See ya.”

As Peter hangs up the call and starts pulling back the sheets, Tony belatedly realizes that he has no way out of the Parker’s apartment. 

He hopes Strange gets him soon. There’s a lot he needs to talk about.

* * *

 

Well into the dead of the night, with Peter and May fast asleep, a familiar golden portal opened right next to Peter’s bed. Instead of dwelling on Strange’s irritated glower, Tony jumped through the portal, quickly telling him to close it. Strange frowned, but followed his orders.

“Why’d I need to close it?”

“Because Peter’s Spider Sense would have woken him up if you stayed too long.”

“Oh.”

Strange takes a second to squint at Tony, scrutinizing him.

“Did you make more food for yourself?”

“What? No. You know I can’t pick up anything besides the bowl.”

“Huh. Maybe nutritional value applies to ghosts as well, then. I added blueberries to your porridge this morning.”

“I noticed. Thanks.”

Tony can tell that Strange is really tired from whatever magical threat he had to fight off for the majority of the day. So he stays silent, walking up the stairs with the intention of going to bed.

But Strange heads into the study room, clearly thinking Tony would follow suit. Tony frowns and hurries over. The study room is empty, but Strange is still making his way to the table.

“What are you doing?”

Strange stops and turns to stare at him. He’s looking at Tony with a confused expression.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to sit down so we can talk about your ghost business?”

“Strange, it’s 2am.”

Strange blinks.

“It is?”

Tony gives him a disgruntled look.

“I feel like your parent. Which is weird, because you’re supposed to be a fully-functioning adult. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Uh.”

“That’s probably what Wong told you before you came back, right?”

Strange’s face twists in irritation. Tony blinks. 

_ Seems like something happened between them. _

“We can just do it now—”

“Strange, you’re tired. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been doing, but you gotta rest up. Come on.”

When Strange stubbornly doesn’t move, Tony sighs. He walks over, getting behind the cloaked sorcerer while ignoring Strange’s raised brow. Tony raises his hands, his palms facing the red drapes over Strange’s shoulder—

—and  _ pushes _ .

“What the—?!”

The cloak doesn’t save Strange from falling flat on his face, but it does save itself. Tony smiles as the sentient cloak turns to him, startled practitioner of the mystic arts hissing in pain on the floor between them. The cloak shakes itself out a little, drawing an amused huff from Tony.

“Hey, there. You tired too?”

“Stark!”

Tony looks down to find Strange looking up at him in shock. He’s surprised the sorcerer isn’t mad about him pushing him.

“What?”

“You  _ pushed me. _ ”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he replies wryly. Strange jumps to his feet, scanning Tony’s body. He feels strangely violated by the piercing gaze.

“...Was it the blueberries?”

“I don’t know, Strange. I visited the kid, and he could sort of feel me hugging when I tried hard enough. So I’ve been practicing with him the whole day. He got spooked after a while, so I stopped. Oh, and by the way, he’s planning on stopping by at some point to catch up. Feels the need to bond with the one other person who was with him on Titan. So maybe keep the front door open?”

Strange just stares blankly at him. Evidently, the mystical threat took a lot out of the sorcerer if he isn’t engaging in their silly quip battles. Tony smiles and steps forward. He grabs Stephen’s shoulders and turns him toward the door, the sorcerer oddly compliant while he’s lost in thought. Tony guides him back out of the study room and in the direction of his bedroom.

Strange seems to be lost in his fast-paced mind. Tony can only guess the sorcerer is flying through millions of different possible theories and explanations for this new development. Thankfully, the Cloak flies ahead and opens Strange’s door for him. Tony pushes the sorcerer into his room. When Strange turns around, still wearing his gobsmacked expression, Tony smirks.

“Need me to tuck you into bed, honey?” he asks in an annoyingly shrill voice. That seems to knock Strange out of his splendor as he scowls at him.

“Shut up, Stark.”

“Mm-hm. Go sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Tony leaves the sorcerer in his room, head filled with pleasing thoughts of hugs and kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Usually, I'll update on Saturdays, but it's been 2 weeks so I'm putting this up on a Friday. I'm not entirely proud of this chapter. It may not be very exciting. But this chapter is meant to lay some groundwork/world build a bit.
> 
> Peter is still in turmoil over Tony's death, but he's containing it inside of him because he has important responsibilities to the world after Endgame. He has grown in importance, not entirely of his own will. And he's having trouble adjusting to a world 5 years into the future. You'll see more of this struggle in future chapters. Point is, Peter is grieving, but he's also not. He's not allowing himself to feel the loss of Tony to the fullest, and his added responsibilities are providing a decent distraction.
> 
> As for Tony, fatherhood has changed him into a more sympathetic person who's looking out for others.
> 
> Next Saturday, be prepared for a little heart-to-heart and some struggling Spider-Boy.


	4. Do Possibilities Deserve A Chance?

Tony didn’t really need to sleep. But he figured if Strange was going to have his emotions constantly buzzing in his head throughout the night, then he should at least try. He’s pretty sure ghosts need rest sometimes. But the rules of ghosts are different from the rules of living people. So all Tony ends up doing is staring at the ceiling above his bed.

Tony decides to try and fall into that dazed haze again, the one where he’s lost in mindless thoughts. The one where he can just daydream. So Tony does exactly that for the rest of the night, lost in a constant thread of relaxing memories. He reminisces on the happier moments in his life. His time with Pepper, the relaxed, intimate moments where they both could take a breath. His five years with Morgan, where a lot of his happiest moments in life lay. The times he had with Peter, when the kid wasn’t being an idiot. His college days with Rhodey, and finding his first real friend in him.

He’s so lost in it that Tony doesn’t even notice when he starts floating listlessly in his room. Or the slow entrance of New York’s dawn into the room. Or the muted swish of Strange’s entrance as the sorcerer enters the room in his astral form in the morning and floats beside him, quietly watching Tony breathe with closed eyes.

So, when the sorcerer gets tired of waiting for him to open his eyes, he pokes him.

Tony does _not_ fall flat on his back with a squeak.

“Ugh,” Tony grumbles, as he starts to curl up to stand on his feet. Strange floats  closer, above him. Upon seeing the sorcerer in the air, Tony decides to just flop back onto the floor, limbs splayed carelessly around him. “Y’know, I thought that as a ghost, I’d finally be able to get the ultimate upper hand when scaring people. It’s not fair.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. I don’t really feel pain. It just felt like I hit the floor. Painlessly.”

“Convenient. So ghosts bodies don’t experience physical harm.”

“Oh no, I can feel pain alright. Remember your little zapadoodle at the door? That hurt like a bitch.”

Strange just slowly blinks at him. Tony sits up, stretching.

“Also, did you die in your sleep or something? I thought I was the only ghost around here.”

“This is my astral projection form. I’m not dead. Or, rather, I’ve just left my body temporarily.”

“So your body is…?”

“Laying in my room. But it’s just an uninhabited meat shell. I’m perfectly fine.”

“So….you’re a ghost.”

“No. I’m alive. This is just my form in the astral realm. People are able to see me if I want them to. If I wanted to be completely unseen, I’d just enter the Astral Plane or the Mirror Dimension.”

Tony hates magical jargon. But it’s something new. Something he doesn’t know about. Therefore, it’s interesting. He wonders if Strange had a similar mindset when he went from being a doctor of medicinal practice to magical, glowing spells.

“Am _I_ in this ‘astral plane’? Or the Mirror Dimension?”

“Hmm, not the Mirror Dimension. You’d know for sure if you were there. But as for the astral plane…”

Strange squints at him for a while. Tony notes that he has a tendency to stare at things he’s trying to figure out.

“...You seem to float in between the normal world and the astral world,” Strange concludes after a while. He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “When you were floating, I could sense you in the astral realm with me. But right now, you’re in the physical world. Still in an intangible form, but there.”

“Huh.”

“I’m not quite sure what I should classify you as, now that I think of it,” Strange mutters. Tony has a feeling the sorcerer is beginning to fall into one of those long trains of thought he often did. There were a lot of those when they were discussing ghost business over blue porridge. “You were human. And now you’re a lingering spirit. Are ghosts born in the physical world or the astral realm? Or some other layer of reality we don’t know of?”

“I was floating when I first woke up. So astral realm?”

Strange nods slowly, lost in thought. Tony notices the sorcerer is wearing a different set of robes, much lighter and freeing.

“Did you just wake up?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I routinely meditate and practice my astral projection in the early mornings. I was just about finished, when I realized I haven’t tried interacting with you in my astral form yet.”

“So this is a spur-of-the-moment experiment.”

“In a sense, yes.”

Strange floats down. He reaches out to touch Tony’s shoulder. His hand goes through. Tony feels nothing, even though he can see Strange’s fingertips inside his transparent shoulder. It’s freaky.

“I was able to touch you when you were in the astral realm. Now, your body is following the rules of ghost biology in the physical realm. Or are you being characterized as a body in the physical world? Yet, in my astral form, I can sense the spiritual energy that your body is made of, something that I can’t sense in my physical form. Fascinating.”

“Okay, doc. Getting a little freaky there.”

Strange doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s staring at Tony, but not _at_ him. It reminds Tony of the time at the funeral where he was met with eyes that pass through him. There’s a dull pang in his heart.

“If I attacked you on the astral plane, would you get hurt? And do you have greater abilities on the astral plane than you do on the physical plane? But you were able to touch me yesterday. Are you able to interact with beings from both planes of reality?”

“Strange.”

Strange blinks.

“Oh. Sorry. I got a bit side-tracked there.”

Tony snorts.

“No shit.”

Strange ignores the quip as he plows on.

“I came by to ask if you wanted breakfast.”

"How thoughtful of you. Offering tributes to the undead.”

“Right. See you in the kitchen. I’m going to get my body.”

Strange floats out the door. Tony quickly gets to his feet and tries to follow him, but the sorcerer is already disappearing down the hall. He grumbles to himself.

“Fucking wizards and their disappearing acts.”

Tony walks down the hall toward the stairs. He wonders if he can float like Strange can. He takes a moment to try and will his body off the ground, but apparently he can’t defy gravity or enter the astral place just by thinking. Which, fine, whatever. Also, he’s still bummed about not being able to phase through walls. At least he can’t feel physical pain.

….That gives him an idea.

Strange arrives at the staircase in the middle of Tony rolling down the steps for the third time in a row. He comes to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs, watching Tony’s last few tumbles down the steps with disgust on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Tony plops onto the Sanctum’s ground floor flat on his back. He sits up, looking Strange dead in the eyes.

“Living.”

Strange blinks.

Then he gives a little snort.

Tony grins.

“Ha! I knew there was a sense of humor underneath the whole stoic-hardass act! Though it’s lame how simple shit like that gets a laugh out of you. You’re too easy to please, doc.”

Strange rolls his eyes at him, descending the stairs.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if we had met before my car accident,” Strange said wryly, before continuing. “I was expecting you to say something similar to the time I caught you walking into the walls of Whole Foods.”

“Eh, I was thinking it. But this was better.”

They head into the kitchen. Strange sets about making breakfast for the both of them. Tony watches as he pulls out a carton of eggs from the fridge, settling himself on the countertop next to the stove.

“So you guys _do_ have a fridge.”

Strange cracks an egg into a bowl.

“Only the Sanctums do. It’s tough work, constantly guarding the seals against outer-dimensional forces. Sometimes we don’t have the time to be farmers.”

“I bet you just miss modern technology. Hey, are you making omelettes? Make me one, too.”

There are two omelettes frying side by side in the shallow pan. Tony can smell the scent of frying eggs, and it’s satisfying. His ghost body doesn’t respond with a stomach growl or a wave of drool, but at least he can smell.

Strange glances up at him. Shit, he couldn’t quite prevent that pang of sadness. Tony wonders why the eggs aren’t as distracting as lengthy trains of thought.

“What were you thinking about?” Strange asks quietly, turning back to the eggs. He nudges a little at one of them.

“Bodily responses to everyday stimuli. Or the lack thereof. Say, what’s the nutritional value of these? Am I gonna get a crazy boost and start glowing like the Rockefeller Tree?”

“Not sure. We use olive oil, though. But I guess you don’t need to worry about your cholesterol levels anymore.”

Strange tries to hide his wince when he feels Tony’s brief moment of sorrow. Tony feels sorry for the guy. But he’s also a bit entertained by his reactions. Wong was right; the fishing line was going to teach him how to be a better-mannered person.

Strange gives him a blank look in response to Tony’s pity and amusement. Tony snorts.

“Watch your eggs, Sorcerer Supreme.”

Strange returns to poking at the stuffed omelettes with his spatula.

“So you don’t feel hungry?”

“No. But I don’t feel full either.”

“You’re a being born and built out of emotions. So you have no need for a body. Food may be something an option to you, rather than necessity.”

“I figured as much.”

“You have sight, hearing, taste. What about smell and touch?”

“I’ve been able to feel things when I touch them. I just don't feel like I have a body. And I've always been able to smell. I think.”

Strange is lost in thought again. Tony starts to think he’s not used to company at the Sanctum in the mornings.

“You’re not really a social butterfly in the morning, huh?”

“Shut up.”

The omelettes are done. Strange turns off the stove and opens a wall cabinet behind Tony with a muttered “excuse me”. He pulls out a plate and Casper’s bowl. Tony watches quietly as Strange puts one omelette on the plate. He folds the other one in half again, then plops that omelette into Tony’s tiny bowl.

The second the omelette comes into contact with the ghost bowl, an airy smoke starts to fill the inside, engulfing the omelette. Tony wrinkles his nose as he watches the omelette gradually turn that pretty shade of blue.

“Why does it turn blue?”

“I believe it has something to do with how the bowl is transforming physical matter into what I think is spiritual energy, to some degree.”

“Huh. Does that mean the omelette is dead?”

Strange looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“The omelette was never alive in the first place.”

“What if you put a live chick in there? Would it die and become a ghost?”

A brief flash of disgust crosses Strange’s face at the morbid idea before it turns thoughtful.

“Theoretically, yes.”

“So this thing can pretty much make ghosts, so long as it fits in the bowl.”

“Possibly. I’ve never tested it with living animals, so I can’t be certain. I hope that suggestion doesn’t stem from animal testing Stark Industries does?”

“We sell electronics, energy, and mechanical equipment. How would we test jet engines with rabbits? I just thought ghost chicks would be fun to have. Or you can test it with cockroaches. I bet you have them running around here. Have I told you about how sad this place looks?”

“We can’t just make ghosts willy-nilly, Stark.”

“Why not? It’s just a cockroach.”

“It’s dangerous. All ghosts, regardless of their previous form when they were alive, have the potential of becoming a poltergeist. Turning something that relies completely on instinctive responses is especially dangerous. That cockroach would instantly become a poltergeist out of its extreme fear response. And that constant, overwhelming fear would spitball into a formidable being of negative energy.”

“Ah.”

The smoke fades, leaving the weird blue omelette. Strange starts to hand him a fork then remembers.

“Darn. I need to get the rest of Casper’s dining set from London’s storage so you can eat properly.”

Tony snorts.

“You talk like I’m moving in with you. Am I gonna be here forever?”

Strange’s face twists in discomfort and doesn’t answer. Tony can understand why. There are a lot of questions underneath that innocent blunder on Tony’s part. Is Tony going to stay a ghost until the end of time? Or will he fade away? Can Strange really handle keeping him around, constantly feeling his emotions and maintaining his fishing line? Should Tony be kept under lock and key, for fear of him coming across something emotionally triggering outside the Sanctum walls? Is it really worth keeping Tony around as a ghost when he’s so volatile in this form and really serves no purpose as a person anymore?

Tony remembers that Strange seemed to have come back last night after a disagreement with Wong. There’s no doubt in his mind that Strange’s mind is busy, buzzing with thoughts around the issue of Tony.

“Why am I here, Strange?”

Strange picks up his plate and moves to the dining table in the next room. Tony follows, holding his cursed bowl with blue eggs.

“Strange.”

Strange takes a seat at the table. He disgracefully shoves the chair opposite him for Tony with his feet from under the table. Tony walks around and takes his seat.

“You know, I’m not letting you off this time,” Tony tells him quietly, not touching his blue omelette just yet. Strange doesn’t acknowledge him, starting to dig into his breakfast. Tony snorts. He finds it cute that Strange thinks he can just blatantly ignore the ghost in front of him until he gives up. Tony is a ghost now. He can haunt Strange as much as he wants. He no longer has any real world obligations to attend to.

Strange must’ve felt his confidence because he sighs. The sorcerer props an elbow on the table and rest his cheek on his palm, finally meeting his eyes.

“I just think you deserve more than a dumb exorcism after sacrificing yourself for the universe,” he answers. It’s honest and clear. Tony suddenly hates himself for asking. He hates the weird fishing line Strange has on him. He hates how Strange can feel everything he’s feeling, including the sudden burst of emotion that bloomed in his chest at Strange’s words.

“1 out of 14 million. No other way, right?” Tony mumbles, averting his eyes. He hates how clear and cutting Strange’s eyes are at the moment.

“That’s right. There was no other way. And I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s just what it is, Strange. You don’t need to feel sorry for that.”

“I know. But it’s hard to control emotions. I’m sure you know how it is.”

Tony snorts at the little dig. He starts to eat his breakfast, tentatively poking the omelette with his fingers. Turns out he can touch the food. Which makes sense, considering the porridge would’ve fallen through his body if he couldn’t. Tony tears a bit of the omelette off and eats it.

“I don’t know if this is right,” Strange continues, apparently deciding he doesn’t care anymore about keeping quiet. Tony’s feeling attacked by all this honesty. He also hates the fact that Strange is trusting him to control his emotions so he doesn’t turn into a deathly mass of negative feelings. “Maybe an exorcism really is the right call, like Wong said. Maybe I’m just prolonging the inevitable. Or maybe I’m needlessly risking a worse death for you.”

Strange pauses. Tony has a feeling he’s wondering if what he says next is appropriate.

“....How did you feel? When you….died?”

Tony smiles.

“Y’know, for someone who’s supposed to be preventing me from turning into a poltergeist, you’re really gutsy,” Tony jokes. Strange gives him a strained smile.

“I mean,” Tony starts, tearing off a bigger chunk of his omelette and eating it. “I was scared in the beginning. For me, at first. Rhodey comes along, and he has his shitty poker face on. His eyes show everything, by the way, in case you ever play a game with him. The second I saw his face, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. Then Pete came along, crying like a little bitch, and then I was scared for him and everyone else. Pepper and Morgan. I got scared of what would happen to them when I was gone.”

Tony pauses to eat the next bite in silence. Strange just sits in front of him, eating his own breakfast, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“But then Pepper came. And she knew what I was thinking. So she….lays me to rest. On a battlefield, which, romantic as it is, really sucks. But. After she said what she said, I….stopped worrying. Found peace with myself. I mean, obviously I had no choice in the matter. But Pepper, when she says something, she means it. And she said that they’d be okay. So. I just let go.”

Strange is silent. Tony thinks discussing his own death like it’s the weather is weird. The sorcerer across from him is keeping a blank face as he whittles down his omelette. But Tony has a feeling that this time, Strange is battling with his own emotions instead of Tony’s.

As they finish their omelettes in silence (shit, how is Tony going to get rid of the oil on his fingers?), Strange startles him with another question.

“What do you think I should do about you?”

Tony blanks.

“Uh. I don’t know. I don’t really care. If you exorcise me, then fine. Whatever. I surrender and all that crap—”

“Then why were you running from us the first day?”

Tony stalls. They’re both experiencing Tony’s internal war of emotions.

“I….I think part of it was ghost instinct,” Tony responds slowly, sorting through the memory. “Y’know, like ghosts having an instinct to survive and all that. But….getting a second chance at life is also just….addicting.” Tony gives Strange a defeated look. Strange looks at him silently, unable to offer comfort.

Because unlike Tony, he’s alive.

“Don’t ask me to decide my own fate, Strange,” he pleads, trying and failing to keep the desperation from his voice. He hates being open with the sorcerer, but at this point, it’s necessary. “It’s….It’s messed up. Being a ghost is messed up. It’s cool, but it sucks. And I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m supposed to be _dead_. I don’t….I don’t need to be here. Not anymore.”

Strange looks so conflicted. Tony wants to smack that look right off his face.

There’s silence. Tony thought Strange would at least confirm Tony’s thoughts, give him a simple “okay”. But the sorcerer is silent. He hates how his life is hanging between them over a rickety dinner table, differently colored omelettes, and a conversation that isn’t meant to happen.

Strange is obviously wrestling with himself. Wondering what exactly is keeping the other from smiting the ghost in front of him right here and now, Tony repeats his earlier question.

“Strange. Why are you keeping me here?”

_Why didn’t you kill me at the funeral? Or at the market?_

Strange looks so defeated.

“Because you _are_ here.”

Tony frowns. Strange sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Ghosts….Living spirits stay back for a reason. You were kept here for a reason. One that seems to have nothing to do with your wife, your daughter, your heroics, or even your will to live. I don’t know why you’re a ghost. And Wong won’t even contemplate the reason you’re here. He’s been telling me to just kill you, let you rest like you were supposed to. This might be my doctoral training kicking in. Or my responsibility as Sorcerer Supreme. Or something else. Guilt, maybe. But I can’t stop thinking about how you might have one last thing to do before you truly rest.”

Tony feels a bit heavy.

“Do you think there’s another threat?”

“No. I don’t know. I hope not. If that’s the case, then the universe really is cruel to you, Tony Stark. But it could be something personal. Something you haven’t realized you’re worried about. Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe….maybe someone else is keeping you here.”

Tony wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t know. If people being unable to move on was one of the reasons for ghosts existing, I’d think I’d see a lot more of them.”

“Have you seen any other ghosts yet?”

Tony frowns, thinking.

“I wasn’t really looking for them,” he admits after a while. Strange nods. The sorcerer takes a breath.

“Well, that’s why I haven’t killed you yet. I’m worried about the possibilities behind you being a ghost. I don’t want to just….cut you away so easily. Not when there are….possibilities.”

Tony just stares at him. He has a feeling that Strange has a lot more that he’s hiding. He felt a weird weight behind the word “possibilities”. Strange shrugs at Tony’s probing look.

“And there may be some selfish emotions playing a part here, too,” Strange confesses reluctantly. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “But my reasoning is more important in this matter.”

“Thank you, Strange,” Tony says softly. Strange’s lips quirk in amusement.

“We just had a disgusting heart-to-heart over breakfast, Stark. You can call me Stephen.”

Tony chuckles.

“Likewise, then.”

Stephen collects both their dishes. As he’s heading back into the kitchen, Tony calls out to him.

“Stephen.”

“Yeah?”

“Do whatever you feel you need to do,” Tony says, ignoring the searing burn in his chest. Stephen turns, fixing him with a gaze that is both guarded and vulnerable. “It’s fine, whatever you do. The ball is in your court. I’m leaving my fate in your hands.”

Stephen gives him a firm, short nod of acknowledgement.

“Thanks, Tony.”

* * *

 

They have a quick discussion about living arrangements. Stephen prefers it if Tony stays at the Sanctum. He doesn’t want to risk the billionaire being in a personally sensitive environment, especially with a woman and a child living there. Tony agrees, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t like being away from his family when he can be right there beside them. And he’ll miss Morgan’s first attempt at origami.

But if it means keeping his wife and his little girl safe, he’s willing to make some sacrifices.

Obviously, the heart-to-heart took a toll on their tolerance of sensitive issues. Luckily, Stephen has to work. He’s due at Kamar-Taj today, training students of the mystic arts. Tony’s not feeling up to being around Stephen for the rest of today. It’s going to get awkward at some point. And no words are needed for Tony to know Stephen’s feeling the same way.

So Tony heads into the streets of New York once again. With a warning from Stephen.

“I can’t track your energy, now that you’re a ghost,” Stephen warns. He’s standing in front of one of the doors in the magical sanctuary. Beyond the open door, Tony can see what seems to be an outdoor courtyard. Which is definitely not in New York City. There’s some distant chatter from the people milling about in uniform robes. Tony’s just not going to ask. “So it’ll be hard for me to find you if you aren’t somewhere I can predict. I opened 5 portals looking for you yesterday. And I accidentally ran into Dr. Banner. I can’t exactly tell anyone I’m looking for Tony Stark’s ghost, either.”

“I thought you could sense me in your astral form?”

“Only when I’m close by. This is the first time I’ve encountered a ghost. And there’s no training relegated to ghosts, either. They aren’t necessarily considered important considering we battle countless entities of different realms all the time.”

“And there aren’t a lot of poltergeists around anymore.”

“No. And the few that do happen to pop up get annihilated on sight.”

Tony sometimes wishes the sorcerer had a bit more tact in his personality.

* * *

 

Tony decides he’s going to shadow Peter for the day. It’s Friday, so Peter has one more day of school left before he’s free for the weekend. Plus, Tony’s never really seen the kid in a school environment.

And it’s been 5 years as well.

He wonders why his memories of Peter are strangely vivid as he finally enters the Midtown School of Science and Technology. It had taken a hell of an effort to navigate his way through the subway systems. Tony hasn’t completely recovered from the crowds of people on the trains. He made a lot of people shiver, too. Tony bets there’s going to be a story of a ghost haunting the subway trains soon.

It’s probably 2nd period, given the time. Tony peeks into every open door he finds, hoping Peter’s classroom is open. After a long hour of wandering about, Tony is startled by the school bell ringing. Tons of students file out of their classrooms, and the halls descend into a cacophony of noise and bodies.

Oh god. Teenagers.

Tony suddenly catches sight of a familiar mop of hair. He hurries toward Peter, uncaring of how he passes through a bunch of kids on his way there. As he gets closer, he can recognize Peter’s friend from last night’s phone call. The guy is chattering, seemingly unbothered by Peter’s lack of engagement.

“—and so I said, ‘MJ, half of our graduating class is already out of college and working jobs’. And she couldn’t say anything to that.”

“Wow,” Peter replies soulessly. Ned gives him an astonished glance.

“Oh, come on, Peter. Isn’t it cool? We basically time traveled 5 years into the future—”

“No, Ned. We died. And we were brought back to life 5 years afterwards.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Tony watches as Peter opens his locker and rummages around for something. Ned is watching Peter as well, but with a conflicted expression on his face.

“...Hey, Peter. Are you really okay?”

“Hm? Course I am. Why? I don’t look sick or anything, do I?”

“No, it’s just… You kind of seem a little different.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter shuts his locker. They start walking towards their next class, with Tony following close behind.

“I mean, you just seem...darker. More—what’s the word—cynical?”

Peter gives Ned a strange look.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t think Aunt May brought it up because it’s been 5 years since she saw you. For me, though, it’s like I just saw you yesterday.”

“I guess.”

“Seriously, Pete. Usually, you’re a lot more chatty than this.”

“Well, sorry. Guess I’m not feeling too hot.”

Ned waves goodbye as he walks into his next class. Peter continues on, walking into a different classroom. Tony follows close behind, practiced eyes scanning for danger.

The class begins. Tony can’t keep Ned’s words out of his mind as he watches Peter struggle to pay attention in a class that should have come easy to him.

* * *

 

Tony discovers something he wishes he knew about Peter all those years ago.

He has a bully.

“Yo, Penis Parker!”

Tony frowns in confusion as Peter rolls his eyes with a sigh. His kid ignores the call, finding a seat at an empty table. Ned is nowhere in sight, and he doesn’t really know how Peter’s crush looks like. Or if she was one of the Vanished or not.

A boy saunters up to Peter’s empty table in the cafeteria. Tony can’t help but notice the dissonance in the student body. Half of them seem to recognize this as a familiar scene, and either ignore it or watch warily. The other half seem to not be as familiar with this dynamic, and are watching with newfound interest.

Right. Half of the kids are Vanished. The other half were kept alive 5 years ago and were now teenagers.

Tony can’t imagine how disorienting it must be for society at the moment.

The boy takes a seat in front of Peter. Tony narrows his eyes at him, taking his own seat on top of the table. Hey, if no one can see him, he can do whatever he wants. As he waits for the confrontation, he wishes he could try one of Peter’s fries. Those things look nasty. Peter glances up from his sorry tray of school food, glaring at the newcomer.

“What do you want, Flash?”

Oh, god. Flash? Tony suddenly feels sorry for the boy.

“How’s your Stark internship coming along?” Flash jeers. In response, Peter stabs his fork into the table with so much force the table rocks. When he pulls his hand away, the fork stays standing, embedded in the wood.

Flash blinks at the display of strength.

“Uh.”

“Not in a good mood, Flash,” Peter warns, digging into his ham sandwich. He fixes Flash with a cold glare as he chews his food. “Now what do you want? If you got nothing good to say, then go.”

“...Chill, Parker. We’re all in the same boat here,” Flash replies warily, shedding his arrogant persona in favor of genuine confusion. Tony wonders just how uncharacteristic Peter is acting for his bully to notice something is off. “Look, I’m sorry. Are you okay? You’re not acting right.”

“‘Acting right’? What do you care?” Peter snaps. Tony winces. The spark of confrontation returns to Flash’s eyes.

“Hey, I’m trying to be less of a douchebag after dying, okay?”

“Well, great. Then, fuck off.”

“Parker, are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_. Now leave. I really don’t want to deal with you today.”

Flash’s expression crumples into something Tony can’t help but think Stephen would wear. A mix between disgust and hesitation out of a conflicting desire to help.

“Your nerd friends better help you get your attitude back,” Flash mutters. He flicks his finger at the standing fork. “That way I can win your seat on the team the right way.”

“Half the team is gone. You can have theirs.”

“But it’s no fun if I don’t get the first seat.”

A dark expression crosses Peter’s face. Tony knows that despite not having seen Peter for 5 years, he has never seen Peter wear such a hostile expression before.

“Stop _whining,_ ” Peter snaps heatedly. “There’s no such thing as a first seat. C’mon, you should know this. I thought you only died two weeks ago?”

Flash flinches. Tony wishes he could smack Peter right about now.

“Dude. Not cool.”

“Oh, sorry. I meant 5 years ago.”

“What is _wrong_ with you, Parker?”

“What’s _wrong_ is that you can’t take a hint and just _leave me alone—!”_

Tony has had enough of this. He slaps his hand on the table with enough force that it shakes the fork loose and lets it fall onto the wood. Both boys freeze and stare at the rocking utensil.

“...Did you just kick the table, Parker?”

“...No. Did you?”

Flash shakes his head. They continue staring at the fork until Ned arrives, walking toward them with a weird expression on his face.

“Flash? What’re you doing—?”

“Dude. This table is haunted,” Flash interrupts, face pale. Peter shoots him a shaky glare.

“Really? Is that what we’re going to say?”

“You said you didn’t kick the table, Parker. I didn’t either. What else can you say?”

“This is why you weren’t in the first string.”

“Shut up, Parker. I’m leaving this haunted table.” Flash gets up hurriedly, grabbing the salt container nearby and shaking seasoning on himself. Tony can’t help but snort at the kid while Peter crosses his arms.

“The cafeteria staff has to clean that up, you shithead.”

“Whatever. Hey, nerd. Your BFF is acting weird. Figure out why he has a stick up his ass, will you?”

With that, Flash scurries away. Ned takes his place, setting his tray carefully down as he tries to figure out what was so fascinating about a fork.

“Why was Flash sitting with you?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. It’s not my business what he does.”

“Jeez, Peter.”

“What?”

Ned just shakes his head. He points to the fork.

“What was up with that?”

“The fork fell over. Flash thinks it was a ghost for some reason.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. Go eat your food. We have that new teacher next.”

“Oh, shit. Man, I can’t get used to our new schedules. This sucks.”

“Tell me about it. They even changed the curriculum for some of my classes in the last 5 years. I can’t understand a thing.”

* * *

 

Tony follows Peter as he struggles through all of his classes. All of them. It’s strange how Tony only realizes how long 5 years must be for the Vanished populations when he watches Peter struggle to comprehend lessons he normally would have understood in an instant.

“Mister Parker? Do you have an answer for us?”

“Uh. Is it...reflecting over the y axis?”

The teacher sighs. Tony wishes she would be a bit more understanding. Half of the class, the ones who were part of the Vanished, are sitting in the classroom looking lost and stunned. The other half looks impatient and irritated. It’s probably a tremendous change for everyone in the school. Tony has noticed cliques basically formed out of whether or not someone was kept alive 5 years ago.

The Vanished students seem to have formed a community, united through their shared experiences. It’s the reason why Flash had immediately stood down after confronting Peter. The Vanished children are all looking out for one another. Tony admires them. He’s learned that kids are a lot smarter and more mature than adults usually think they are after raising Morgan.

Peter, it seems, is one of the leading figures of the Vanished at Midtown. Despite being lost at the start of the class, Peter eventually picks up the lesson. When the teacher dismisses them for group work, Tony watches as all the Vanished kids quietly stand up and gather at the back of the classroom, where a spare whiteboard was positioned. Peter follows, grabbing his notes and walking briskly to the front of the group.

He stands at the whiteboard, grabbing a marker as the rest of the group sits down around him. The motions seem so fluid that Tony knows this arrangement has been followed for a lengthy amount of time. He watches proudly as Peter quickly arranges his own lesson on the board.

“Okay,” Peter starts, addressing the group. He ignores the jeering whispers from the students still at their desks with ease as he taps the board. “So apparently, we’ve completely lost an entire lesson on graphing derivatives. Which sucks, but I’m gonna try my best to explain it to all of you.”

“We would be lost without you, Parker,” one of the girls say. Peter gives her a strained smile.

“To be honest, I’m not doing all that well, either.”

Peter launches into his lesson. Tony watches him, taking in the leader-like aura Peter put on and his clear, confident voice flowing through his classmates’ ears. He’s proud, but it’s a bittersweet feeling. The changes Peter had to go through to adapt to a world 5 years older than him happened so quickly and within an entire month. No wonder Ned was so worried.

Tony wonders if the strain of change is a factor in Peter’s changing personality.

Tony catches Peter starting down the wrong lane of explanation. He hears the students at the front snickering, no doubt laughing at who they call “the laggers”. Tony shakes his head and steps forward, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder and leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“Backtrack, Pete,” Tony whispers, strangely confident that Peter would hear him or be made aware of his message. “You skipped a step. You gotta look at the functions a bit more closely.”

Peter stops abruptly. The group waits for him in confused silence as Peter slowly turns his gaze to his writing on the board.

“....Wait. I missed a step.”

Tony smiles. He steps back, not missing the way Peter’s ears twitch at the movement.

 _So, the kid really can sense me, for some reason,_ he thought to himself as Peter continued on with his lesson, seemingly brushing off the odd pause. The group of students don’t question him. _It’s the Spider Sense, I bet. That damn thing is really helpful, sometimes._

Other times, Peter’s Spider Sense was the reason for his suffering. For example—extending his pain and suffering on Titan as he clung to Tony for reassurance. Coldness washes over Tony’s supernatural form.

He notices one of the students near him start to shiver. He quickly bottles up that train of thought and focuses his attention back to Peter’s miniature class for the rest of the period.

* * *

 

By the time the end of the day comes around, Peter is mentally exhausted. Tony watches in concern as Peter slowly walks down the hall, at a much slower pace than the rest of the student body. Ned is waiting for him at the entrance at the school. A girl is waiting next to him, watching Peter with a deceptively blank gaze. Tony wonders if this girl is the famous “MJ” Peter sometimes talked too much about.

“Hey, guys,” Peter greets them. Ned frowns.

“Dude. You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Peter replies dryly. The group heads down the steps. “How were your guys’ classes?”

“They sucked, man.” Ned lets out an irritated sigh. “I literally haven’t learned anything in a week. School used to be so fun, before.”

“You mean before we died? Yeah.”

“Come on, MJ. You’re just as much of a downer as Peter was at lunch today.”

“I’m always a downer,” MJ admits easily. The girl shakes her head irritatedly, a frown on her face. “The school board should be doing more to help the Vanished. Hell, not just the school board. The Department of Education should be handling this. What the hell is the government doing?”

“Dealing with the Vanished, I would assume,” Peter comments dryly. MJ frowns at him.

“I’m supposed to be the downer in this group, Parker. Go back to being an ignorant idealist.”

Peter doesn’t answer as he pulls out his phone and starts typing into it silently. MJ continues on, seemingly ignoring Peter’s inattention.

“Seriously. It’s been a month. They should’ve pulled out the curriculums from 5 years ago and modified them so we could catch up. The longer they take, the more we all fall behind.”

“How have you been doing with your classes, Peter?”

“Not great,” Peter mumbles as he reads something on the screen of his phone. Ned raises an eyebrow.

“But everyone who’s in the same classes as you are have been singing praises about you. You’re like a human cheat sheet.”

“I get the lessons, eventually. It’s just _harder_.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” MJ sympathizes. Peter nods in acknowledgement as he finishes whatever thing he had to do on his phone. The young boy sighs, running a hand over his face.

“Not to sound arrogant or anything. But having everyone depend on me makes it a little more...pressuring.”

Ned scrunches his face at the thought.

“I don’t envy you.”

“Why were you looking up ghosts, Peter?” MJ asks curiously. Tony looks back to Peter in surprise. Peter’s face quickly fills with pink.

“Why were you looking at my phone—?”

“Is this about that fork thing at lunch? I thought it didn’t bother you,” Ned commented. Peter shook his head.

“No, no, it’s not—Look, I was just...thinking. Is all.”

“If you’re wishing Tony Stark was a ghost, I’d quit it. It’s better to let them move on. Get over their deaths.”

Peter automatically goes rigid. Ned scrambles to rectify the situation.

“MJ—”

“People are counting on you now, Peter,” MJ reminds Peter coldly. Peter doesn’t meet her gaze, staring ahead with a stony gaze. “Don’t get stuck in the past, or you’re gonna disappoint a lot of people.”

“MJ!”

Before anyone can say anything, Peter storms away and doesn't look back. Tony quickly chases after him, hearing the last trails of conversation behind them.

_“Really, MJ?”_

_“What? Peter has to grow up soon. The entire school is depending on him.”_

_“MJ, you have no idea how much he has on his shoulders right now.”_

_“Huh?”_

“Jesus Christ, Pete,” Tony grumbles to himself as he chases Peter down the road. They pass by streams of students, all of whom watch curiously as Peter crashes through the crowds. “Slow down, will you kid?!”

Eventually, Tony finds Peter changing in an alleyway again. The ghost watches as Peter throws his bag in the air and pins it to a wall with his webbing.

“Hey, Karen. What’s up?”

Tony quickly latches on before Peter swings away. He tucks his head next to Peter’s so he can hear the conversation he’s having with his AI.

_“Good afternoon, Peter. My sensors have noticed an increased amount of symptoms for stress in your body. It is recommended that you take some time to relax.”_

“That’s exactly what I’m doing now, Karen. Find any crime?”

_“There’s a police chase happening on the west end of the nearest park.”_

“Take me there.”

* * *

 

After about 2 hours of patrol, Peter stops for a break. He goes back to the alley to don his civilian clothes—Tony resigns himself to the fact that the kid is an exhibitionist—and jogs back out onto the street, heading in a particular direction. Tony follows him, weaving past people quickly in order to not lose sight of his kid.

Peter eventually arrives at a worn-down bodega. He pushes open the door, which triggers a bell hanging overhead to ring. Tony slides inside behind him, looking around the cramped space with childish fascination. As a billionaire, he’s never really been in one of these shops before.

Peter greets a fat, long-haired cat sitting on one of the shelves— _isn’t that a health code violation?_ —before walking up to the counter. An old yet spirited man smirks at him from behind the counter.

“Mister Parker!” he greets heartily. Tony’s heart warms. He loves seeing Peter’s place in the Queens community, as both Spider-Man and Peter Parker. “Returned from the dead. How’s life going so far?”

“Hey, Mister Delmar. It’s going pretty well,” Peter answers distractedly. He frowns at the menu hanging above the counter. “Damn. You guys don’t have the Number 5 anymore?”

“Nah, sorry kid. Sales started dropping three years ago. We had to change the menu.”

“Oh. That's a shame...”

Mr. Delmar must see the change in Peter’s eyes because he claps his hands, bringing Peter’s attention back to him.

“But! I still remember the recipe. And I have some of the ingredients out back.”

“Really?!” Peter asks excitedly. Mr. Delmar grins.

“Hell yeah, buddy. But you’re gonna have to bring that cheese you like. I think the grocery store two blocks over still sells it for some reason.”

“Thanks, Mister Delmar. I’ll be sure to bring some next time. For now, can I get the Number 7?”

“The old classic. That’ll be $5, kid.”

Peter walks out of the bodega happily with his newly acquired sandwich. Tony trails behind him, amused, as Peter walks down the road to an open dog park. He greets a bunch of dogs that he passes, before sitting down at a relatively lonely bench hidden underneath some shady trees. Tony sits beside him as Peter pulls out his phone.

“Hey, Karen.”

_“Yes, Peter?”_

“Can you search up anything mentioning ghosts through government databases?”

 _“Will do. One second, please.”_ Peter and Tony watch as the screen blurs with the AI’s processing. _“I have found exactly one mention of the term ‘ghost’. It’s last update was 5 years ago, a bit after the time I was taken offline due to your exit from Earth’s atmosphere. The report reads of a girl taken in by SHIELD raised to be an assassin—”_

“Okay, that’s not what I needed. But thanks anyway.”

_“No problem, Peter.”_

Peter sighs as he puts away his phone and digs into his sandwich, occasionally picking out some horseradish. Tony sits beside him quietly. There’s silence as Peter munches on his food.

After almost 15 minutes of eating, Peter swallows the bite in his mouth and pauses. Tony waits.

“....Mister Stark?” Peter whispers tentatively.

Tony can’t help himself. He snorts, then dissolves into laughter. Peter remains oblivious next to him, wearing a wary expression. The whole situation is just so funny to Tony. He can’t stop laughing.

Peter frowns. (Tony is still laughing his ass off like the douchebag he is.) Eventually, Peter turns back to his sandwich, muttering to himself.

“God, what am I, crazy? I shouldn’t have let Flash scare me like that,” Peter grumbles to himself. Tony manages to pull himself together eventually.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, kid,” Tony wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. Peter doesn’t hear him, shaking his head as he rolls back the wrap on his sandwich.

“If Mister Stark was here, he’d be laughing in his grave,” Peter grumbles. Tony can’t help himself as he descends into another fit of laughter, this time falling off the bench.

He accidentally hits the bench on the way down.

The bump is hard enough for Peter to feel it. The teenager flinches in his seat, looking around him with wide eyes.

“Oooookay, that’s a little creepy,” Peter whispers shakily. Tony feels bad for the kid, but he’s still rolling on the ground in laughter. He really needs to stop laughing. “Maybe I should talk to Doctor Strange or something. He’d know if ghosts are real. Right? Ugh, no, no! We’re not doing that. Ever.” Tony manages to get a sliver of control back.

“Oh, kid,” he snickers, watching Peter eat the rest of his sandwich warily. “You don’t know half of it.”

* * *

 

When Stephen’s golden portal appears again in Peter’s empty bedroom, the sorcerer pauses and peers at Tony for a moment.

“...So the omelettes were energizing, huh?” Stephen asks strangely. Tony looks up from where he’s trying to phase through Peter’s chair leg.

“What?”

Stephen doesn’t elaborate, choosing to stare at Tony for a while. When he finally speaks, he does so hesitantly.

“Tony, you’re a bit more...colorful.”

“I am?” Tony tries to look down at himself. He still seems muted, but there may be the return of color to his skin. “Huh. I guess. How’d you notice so quickly? Even I didn’t notice it.”

Stephen just stares.

“...What were you doing today?”

“Following Peter around. Why?”

“It’s just...I’m not entirely certain these new developments in your ghost form are merely due to half-assed breakfast food converted to spiritual matter anymore.”

Tony blinks.

“What do you—?”

Peter slams open the bedroom door, holding the huge bag of pretzels he had left his room to get. When he looks up and sees Stephen peeking through a golden portal in his bedroom, he freezes. The two awkwardly stare at each other as Tony tries to muffle his laughter.

“...Hello, Peter Parker,” Stephen greets after a while. Peter blinks.

“Uh, hello, Doctor Strange. What are you doing in my room…?”

Stephen steps through the portal, purposefully walking in front of Tony and giving him a little kick. Tony accidentally lets out a snort through his fingers.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Stephen bluffs, looking around the room in mild interest. His gaze falls on the beaker of web fluid. “How have you been handling the transition?”

“It’s been okay,” Peter answers, walking past Stephen to look at his portal. Tony watches in amusement as Peter pokes his head through, glancing around the Sanctum before pulling back to poke at the sizzling, golden edges of the oval. “It’s...hard. But I can handle it.”

Stephen frowns. He had been poking at the web fluid, unable to resist his scientific curiosity. When he turns, he regards Peter with a concerned stare.

“‘Hard’? What’s causing you trouble?” he asks briskly. Peter shrugs, walking over to his bed.

“Just...school. And stuff. Y’know. I bet you have to handle some changes, too.”

“Well, yes, but the Sanctum runs in a slightly detached realm of reality. Time doesn’t mean much for practitioners of the Mystic Arts.”

“Huh.”

Stephen can’t stop staring at Peter for some reason. Tony starts feeling a little uneasy at the scrutiny his kid is undergoing. He gets up and heads for the portal, wanting to leave quickly so Stephen could leave his kid alone.

“How has the new team been?” Stephen asks. Tony frowns at the sorcerer, wondering what Stephen was getting at. Peter shrugs, gaze travelling sideways.

“Cool, I guess.”

“Have you made friends with the other Avengers?”

“Uh, well…”

Tony frowns at Peter’s hesitation. Surely the excitable kid would have gained their hearts by now?

“I haven’t really seen or talked with them since after that one huge meeting. Or during some kind of threat. Everyone’s kind of spread out all over the world.”

“Huh. Do you have anyone you feel like you’d like to get closer with?”

Peter looks at Stephen suspiciously. Tony can understand Peter’s confusion.

“...I’m fine, Doctor Strange,” Peter says after a while. Stephen blinks.

“If you say so. Are you aware of where the Sanctum is?”

“Uh—”

Stephen whips out a brown card. Tony peers at it as he hands it over to Peter. It has the address of Stephen’s stupid Sanctum on it.

“You can always find me there. Knock on the doors, and the Sanctum will let you in,” Stephen explains as Peter looks at the address with a frown. With a dramatic swish of his cloak, Stephen subtly pushes Tony through the portal, earning a yelp from the ghost. “You can stop by anytime you need to.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks, Doctor Strange,” Peter replies, a bit stunned and confused. Stephen gives him a half-hearted wave and shuts the portal quickly, leaving the poor, confused boy behind in his bedroom. Then, he turns to Tony.

“What’s wrong with him?” Stephen asks bluntly. Tony gives him a weird look.

“He’s stressed…? What’s wrong with you?”

“He doesn’t seem to be acting like his normal self, Tony,” Stephen plows on, ignoring Tony’s question as he bustles past him. Tony shakes his head as he follows Stephen up the stairs to the study room.

“He’s grieving. As a doctor, you should know that.”

“Yes, but something about him seems...off. How long have you been spending time with him as a ghost?”

Tony frowns, trying to remember.

“Not that much, to be honest. I hung out more with Pepper and Morgan.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Today, I’ve been following him since 10 o’clock. Yesterday, I don’t remember when I started. It was toward the end of those drone attacks in Manhattan.”

“Was it just recently that he’s been acting like that?”

“Not according to his friends. They’re all pretty worried about him.”

Stephen falls into silence as he takes a seat and loses himself in his thoughts. Tony sits on the table and watches his face for any sign of his thoughts.

“...Anything else strange about Peter Parker recently?”

“Uh. Well, his Spider Sense is getting better at noticing me. And I think I’m getting better at dropping hints that I’m around. The kid’s getting spooked.”

“What do you mean?”

“He can sometimes tell when I’m talking to him, or when I move closer or farther away,” Tony reports, thinking back throughout the day. He starts to frown as he realizes exactly how strangely attuned to his presence Peter is. “I didn’t expect him to really hear me when I told him he needed to backtrack on one of his explanations. But he somehow got it. I don’t know if he heard me or what, but Peter somehow got the idea.”

“I’m not sure what to think of this,” Stephen said slowly. Tony felt worry start to bubble up inside his chest.

“Do you think I’m hurting him somehow?”

“What? No. Or well. I don’t know. But you’ve spent more time with Pepper and Morgan. Have they been acting differently lately?”

“No.”

“Huh.” Stephen falls into silence again, contemplating. “Maybe it really is just the Spider Sense. That’s what kept him alive those extra few seconds on Titan…”

Tony winces as he feels his heart pang with the memory. Stephen quickly diverts the topic.

“Anyway. I have a new experiment I want to try. Would you like to visit the Mirror Dimension?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I uploaded the chapter a little late. (To be more specific, it's 12:07 am PST.) Hey, I put up the last 3 chapters earlier than scheduled, so I deserve a pass. ;P Sorry for the delay, but I had a LONG day today and didn't have the energy to open up my laptop, proofread the chapter, and write a long ass author note until I had a fucking POWER NAP.
> 
> So. The heart-to-heart over breakfast. It was meant to explain the more logical reasons behind Tony's preservation on Stephen's part. There are actually more reasons that aren't strictly professional on Stephen's end, but that'll be discussed in a later chapter. (Chapter 7, to be exact.)
> 
> As for Peter. His uncharacteristic behavior mainly revolves around irritability, anger, frustration, and sensitivity. I'm slowly trying to convey the various, new responsibilities he's found himself with after coming back to life. This revolves around his student life as Peter Parker of the Vanished.
> 
> I always thought of MJ as the type to give tough love for the people she cares about, which can be either a strength or a flaw. It's pretty obvious that she's smart and observant enough to connect the dots between Peter and Spider-Man (and it's been confirmed in the Far From Home trailer), so in this fic, she does know Peter is Spider-Man but hasn't told him that she knows. What she's trying to do here is provide support to both personas, but seeing as she's out of Spider-Man's loop and doesn't actually know the details of Peter and Tony's relationship, she doesn't realize she's being insensitive. She also doesn't know the new pressure Spider-Man is going through. 
> 
> Regarding the Vanished populations, I really don't think the reassimilation of people who've been dead for 5 years is going to be that easy. Governmental institutions and all aspects of life will be overloaded in the effort to bring things back to normal. Especially since it was half the population. That's a HUGE number of people. I know Endgame said world governments had toppled over, but I don't think the American government in particular would be completely scrapped and done over. Our Constitution is pretty malleable, and with half of Congress gone plus the urgency to regain control over the mayhem, the government would've probably gotten back on its feet with dozens of new additions to its framework fairly quickly.
> 
> Long author's note. I love talking about what I'm writing, so expect these kinds of notes after every chapter. (If an endnote isn't really detailed, then either I half-assed it or the chapter sucked and I had nothing to write about.) Chapter 5 will see some intense action. Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment about what you thought about the chapter!


	5. Where Do Your Loyalties Lie?

The next morning, Stephen decides to put Tony on lockdown.

“Only for a little while,” Stephen placates as he finishes shoving around the egg scramble on the stove. Tony’s hit with the alarming thought of how domestic life has been with the sorcerer. It throws him for a loop, and he’s feeling seriously conflicted about it. What would Pepper say if she knew?

...Pepper would probably just laugh in his face.

Stephen glances at him, mistaking the existential crisis happening in Tony’s head for displeasure at Stephen’s proposal. “We still aren’t sure what dangers are associated with being a ghost. And Peter Parker is….going through a lot. I’d like to play it safe for a while, not take chances.”

“So basically, you’re telling me to stay away from the kid,” Tony reiterates, forcing himself back on track. He shrugs, trying in vain to hide the spark of worry in his chest at the mention of potential danger for his mentee. “I get it. I’ll stay away. There should be stuff to do around here, right?”

“You’re welcome to read some books,” Stephen suggests offhandedly, turning off the stove and beginning to distribute their portions into their respective dishes. Tony watches in fascination again as the ethereal smoke blankets the eggs. “And it will just be for today. Just please stick to the simpler texts if you can help it.”

“What, you don’t think this brain can handle the good stuff?”

“No, I  _ know _ it can. But that is dangerous knowledge that shouldn’t be given about so freely. Especially to a ghost.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I want to try my hand at magic anyway.” Tony perks up when an idea comes to mind. “Except for those portals. I would love to learn how to do that.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“Is that cockiness I sense in your tone, doctor?”

“Please. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme. I've assumed a life free of materialistic desires and arrogant mindsets.”

“That sentence is a sound example indicating otherwise.”

Stephen is due for some reconnaissance missions through different neighboring dimensions. As the sorcerer finishes rechecking his gear an hour later, Tony peers uneasily at the door that supposedly leads to a realm of voodoo dolls. It looks like a normal door, which doesn’t bode well for the seemingly endless halls of doors in the Sanctum.

“—gather threats to present to the Avengers tomorrow at the meeting, so—”

“Wait, hold on, there’s a meeting?”

Stephen gives Tony an insufferable look.

“Were you not listening to a word I said?”

“Nah. You lost me the second you started talking to me about the mermaid dimension.”

“It’s not a—! Ugh. There’s a meeting tomorrow. We’ve established the tradition of routine check-ins with the Avengers every so often. Just to keep in contact with each other, inform everyone of potential threats. As Sorcerer Supreme, I’ve been delegated as the representative for mystical threats to our universe.”

“So this meeting includes….?”

“A good amount of people. The Guardians have been in a rather hard-to-reach portion of space, and Danvers is rather tricky to get ahold of. But the heroes based on earth will most likely be present.”

“Huh. Our world has certainly grown bigger, hasn’t it?”

“ _ Your _ world has. Mine has stayed the same. I was aware of how vast the multiverse was once I got to a certain point in my training.”

“Okay, that’s enough of inflating your ego. Go get killed by some evil doll.”

Stephen leaves for his duties without much fanfare, leaving Tony alone and bored in the Sanctum. He plays a bit with a few relics he finds on display around the Sanctum, reasoning that if there was nothing in the way of him touching them, then they were probably safe to mess with. Probably. 

Tony revisits the magic mirror again an hour in, checking out his reflection one more time. He’s a lot more...lively in appearance than the last time he looked. Tony decides to take a risk and poke at the glass, only to find that his translucent finger pushes through the glass like butter to touch something spiny and hard and  _ breathing _ on the other side.

Tony decides to stick to reading after that.

* * *

 

Five hours pass. The sun is high in the sky outside the Sanctum. Tony is reading one of the Sanctum’s books in a room on the top floor, cozied up next to a large window overlooking the street. It’s a rather nice view. The colors outside are vibrant and alive, almost like something out of a travel magazine. It's very unlikely for New York to be blessed with clear blue skies, so when it happens, everyone knows it's going to be a good day. Tony feels satisfyingly happy, comfortable as he sprawls over the window seat with the warm feeling of the sun’s rays bathing his ghostly form. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long, long time.

Tony is deeply invested in the book about mystical techniques for opening portals when he hears footsteps coming down the hall toward his room. Glancing up, Tony spies Wong peeking inside, eyes spotting him at the window for a moment before he scans the rest of the inside. Tony smiles at the sight of his old friend.

“Hey, Wong. If you’re looking for Stephen, he went to look at voodoo dolls in another dimension,” Tony greets. Wong nods to himself distractedly as he steps into the room.

“I know. I came to talk to you.”

“Oh? A visit from Beyonce? Great! It’s been so long since we’ve caught up. When was the last time we talked? It might’ve been during Morgan’s birthday party—”

“Why hasn’t Stephen vanquished your spirit yet?”

Tony stills. He looks at Wong’s neutral face with wide eyes.

“Uh…” Tony can’t help but notice the door to the hallway—which he had definitely left open—was now shut. The sun’s warmth on his spirit form keeps him calm, though. “That’s...a little complicated. You’ll have to hear it from Stephen himself.”

“Stephen?”

“Yeah. Sorcerer Supreme? Dickhead who called me a douchebag the first time he met me?”

“Since when were you two on first name basis?”

“Since we had a little heart-to-heart over eggs at breakfast. The guy’s secretly a fucking sap. I hope you know that.”

Wong doesn’t say anything, just stands next to Tony and stares out the window. Tony belatedly remembers that Stephen and Wong had a fall-out two days ago over what to do with him. That Wong was in favor of putting him to rest immediately.

He can’t quite stop the lurch of fear in his gut.

“Hey, Wong? You okay, buddy?”

Wong finally turns his heavy gaze on him. There’s something both deeply apologetic yet steely unforgiving in his expression.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

Then,  _ pain _ .

Tony doesn’t even register it for a hot second. His guard was down, gently washed away by the warm rays of sunlight outside the Sanctum. But it comes to him quickly. The searing, hot burn of Wong’s magic invading his ghostly form, clashing with his own spiritual energy and eating away at it as his ghost body instinctively tries to fight back. Tony had forgotten how weak he was. How his current body no longer even gives him enough power to put some weight behind a punch. Not that he’d be able to throw one, as he’s currently falling off the window seat to writhe at Wong’s feet, golden magic not unlike Stephen’s coursing through his body.

It’s Wong. Wong. The sorcerer he became friends with when the man portalled into his room at the Avengers Compound upon his return to earth. Who asked with a grim face if Stephen was one of the Vanished. Who Tony couldn’t help but admire as he stepped back into the Sanctum, wasting no time in preparations to find Stephen's successor in his duty to protect the Earth against mystical threats. Who threw himself into the duty in honor of his best friend, who died on Titan along with the Guardians and Peter.

_ Peter _ .

Something black and ugly starts to fester in Tony’s chest.

Tony lost Peter 5 years ago. He had brought him back, but wasn’t able to give Peter much after his resurrection except for a desperate hug during Thanos’ attack on Earth. Tony only spent around a year or two with the kid. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t have enough time to really grow into the mentor the kid deserved. He didn’t have enough time to teach him the ropes, to really instill his faith in the kid’s conscience before they were ripped apart. Poor Peter is grieving at this moment, lost because Tony's gone, no longer had a mentor to help soothe his pain and give reassurances. Peter is alone. And he is hurting.

And Tony wants to help him. Again and again and again and again.

_ Peter’s hurting. He isn’t going to let me help Peter. _

“Damn, you should be gone by now. I should—”

**_Kill him._ **

Tony doesn’t give Wong the luxury of finishing his sentence. The darkened thing born out of his heart rises, channeling his fear and desperation and turning it into an unrecognizable and irrepressible  _ fury _ .

“Oh,  _ fuck—! _ ”

Tony’s not controlling his movements. He watches as his arm— _ black, black, his arm is black just like when he snapped his fingers _ —slams into Wong and sends him flying through the room, crashing onto a bookshelf. The sorcerer rolls over among the debris, wincing as he tries to quickly get back onto his feet.

Tony doesn’t give him a moment of reprieve. One second Tony’s getting to his feet by his sunny window. The next, he’s staring into Wong’s wide eyes as he grabs his friend’s throat and hurls him through the wooden door and over the railing from the fifth floor of the Sanctum. He barely hears Wong’s body hit the ground, barely hears the sorcerer’s grunt of pain through the strange murkiness slowly overtaking his consciousness.

It’s not him. It’s not Tony. Tony isn’t the one who floats down to the ground floor of the Sanctum. He isn’t the one who taps the dead nanotech housing unit on his chest. He isn’t the one who allows the darkened mass that slowly stretches from the triangular unit—from his heart—to move down his scorched arm, mold itself onto his limb in a twisted and evil version of his Iron Man suit. He isn’t the one who wills the black matter to form into a sharp and smoking blade, jagged and misshapen and nothing like what he’d actually create if he was in control.

No. Tony’s mind is being overrun by his negative emotions.

Resentment. Anger. Revenge. A twisted, vile sort of protectiveness. Tony dimly recognizes the emotions, puts a name to them, but they don’t feel like they’re his. But as he watches from a rather muted point-of-view while his body slowly treks over to Wong’s struggling figure, trapped within black tendrils he doesn’t remember spawning, Tony knows that these emotions originated from somewhere deep within himself. It’s a darker version of Tony holding the reins, one manipulated by his ghost form to morph into a crueler mass of hatred, and Tony doesn’t quite have himself together to fight the outrageously iron will fueling dark Tony’s movements as he raises the fearsome blade over his head to bring down onto the person before him.

The familiar sound of sparking magic and the sight of a red cloak have never been more welcome in his entire undead life.

_ “Wong, what the fuck did you do?!” _

Tony welcomes the shroud of pain and the following darkness willingly.

* * *

 

Peter feels a chill flutter down his spine. His Spider Sense flares weakly, but despite the small reaction, Peter can’t help but feel there was a heavier weight behind it. He pauses in the middle of his classwork, trying the identify the strange heaviness lurking in his chest.

Ned, who is absorbed in his own work beside him, doesn’t notice his pause. MJ, however, glances up at him the second his pencil stops moving. She crooks a questioning eyebrow at him. Peter just gives her a little shake of his head. MJ shrugs, then gets back to her book.

Peter subtly rubs his chest as he focuses his eyes on the next paragraph of their reading. It feels like there’s something foreign in his heart, something that shouldn’t be there. And yet, it feels like it belongs. Peter takes in a deep breath and gets back to work, resolving to ask Karen for a cardiogram just in case any health problems associated with his heart had developed when he wasn’t looking.

* * *

 

_ Moments earlier... _

Stephen is in the Aquatic Dimension, serenely watching otherworldly creatures swim around him without care for his presence. It is a soothing reprieve from the Land of the VooDoo Dolls, as Stephen secretly refers to it. (He swears to never tell Tony that. The ghost would've never let him live it down.) He is taking the liberty of enjoying the moment, floating in water yet unable to get wet due to the dimension’s abnormal properties. Life is teeming around him, colorful and moving. The glowing structures around him provide enough light to see his surroundings in the midst of the neverending darkness of the waters, including the rock he is currently anchoring himself to. And Stephen is content to just bask in the purity of Tony’s emotions.

At the moment, Stephen is just letting himself feel Tony’s feelings. Tony had been strangely happy for the past few hours, and it was hard to traverse dangerous dimensions when half of him was enjoying the sun. So Stephen had allowed himself to take a moment to breathe, get used to Tony’s feelings invading his consciousness again, before heading back out on his reconnaissance mission.

Stephen is always struck by how pure Tony’s emotions were. They were certainly stronger than normal, seeing as the hero was a ghost. Tony’s emotions often bounce wildly with energy likened to a golden retriever, something either uncharacteristic or well-hidden for the man. What interests Stephen the most is the absence of the heaviness of a burden weighing down in Tony’s conscience. His feelings were light and free, weightless after his death. Tony had been telling something of a truth when he said he passed away peacefully, letting go of his burden to protect the world from a threat unseen in space. Stephen won’t admit it, but he is addicted to the feeling of just  _ living _ as Tony had been doing for the duration of his stay.

There is a burst of excitement. Stephen snorts, mentally making fun of Tony’s easy reactions to even the smallest of events. There are a couple of creatures in front of him doing an entrancing dance together. With sleek bodies designed for easy movement through the water, their movements were mesmerizing. Stephen watches them, momentarily distracted from Tony’s heart as he marvels at the dancing display in front of him.

Suddenly, Tony’s emotions disappear.

Stephen is taken aback by the sudden retreat. He has no idea what it means. There is a little trickle of confusion in his chest, but Stephen isn’t sure if it’s from Tony or himself. The creatures in front of him are starting to reach a more intimate, loving part of their dance ritual. Stephen tries to describe their appearance in his head, deciding they were a strange cross between dolphins, swordfish, and dragons.

There’s a lurch of fear in his gut that definitely isn’t his.

And then, agony.

The creatures around him scatter as Stephen yelps in pain, accidentally falling off the floating rock he had been sitting on and falling into the dark, murky depths of the Aquatic Dimension, away from the glowing refuge of the cluster of rocks. For some reason, the growing darkness around him intensifies Tony’s emotions, overwhelming Stephen as he tries to determine where the pain is coming from.

Stephen expects to feel more fear, but there isn’t any. Tony’s bouncing around. Helplessness, resignation, panic. Stephen fumbles around for his sling ring, but the darkness around him is increasingly working against him as it accidentally slips out of his fingers following a brush with an unseen creature in the dark. Stephen curses, desperately trying to clear his head to find his ticket back home. He lights up the rune on his hand, and it emits a gentle golden glow. He waves it around wildly, looking for the tiny chunk of wood in the darkness.

New emotions originating from Tony start to bleed into Stephen. Betrayal and anger. Stephen frantically wonders amidst the pain what’s going on with Tony at the Sanctum. The golden light finally passes over a distant speck in the darkness. Bingo! Stephen quickly begins swimming toward his sling ring, using the rune in his hand as a guide. Tony’s feelings of betrayal are quickly growing, entrapping his heart, and they’re joined by another, more distant emotion.

Loss.

A tinge of guilt.

Then pure cold and unrelenting  _ evil _ .

Stephen is taken aback by the extremity of the sensation. This doesn’t feel like Tony. His sense of urgency hardens as he finally grabs the sling ring. And just in time. When Stephen goes to slot it onto his fingers, he catches sight of the rune on the palm of his hand.

Some of it is turning a blood red.

Stephen quickly makes a portal to the Sanctum. He bursts out into the foyer and is greeted with the sight of Tony, eyes dead and darkened with murderous intent as he stands over a trapped Wong. Stephen realizes Tony’s practically half-poltergeist at the moment and he quickly holds out the hand with the rune.

But Tony’s murderous anger is blending in with his, muddling his mind. Stephen realizes with a jolt that the tendrils of evil in Tony are starting to enter him, trying to possess him, dredging up his own deeply buried anger and frustrations and giving them more power. It easily finds a common sentiment between Tony and Stephen. Tony’s ire is currently aimed at Wong. And Stephen still harbors some frustration at his best friend from their intense argument two days ago.

The evil easily molds that into a weapon.

“Wong, what the fuck did you do?!”

Stephen utilizes the rune, barely holding back from using it to its full extent. Tony’s murderous rage has completely overtaken him at this point, and it’s extremely difficult for Stephen to restrain himself from killing the ghost when he’s using a tool that has the potential to  _ kill _ . It’s an ugly loop. Tony’s murderous rage bleeding into Stephen, and Stephen weakly resisting being controlled by that murderous rage as he tries to force Tony to a state within an inch of death. It’s difficult to keep control when his task requires such precision aimed at Tony.

It’s easier to keep control if Stephen allows some of that rage to be channeled at Wong.

Tony resists the rune. Stephen’s not even sure it is Tony anymore. But after a few tense seconds of fighting against the evil tainting the ghost, Tony’s body falls slack and he drops to the floor. The evil mass consuming his body remains, however. Waiting for an opportunity.

Stephen’s having trouble fighting the evil that managed to seep into him.

“Fucking  _ hell _ , Wong! Didn’t I tell you to stay out of it?!” Stephen snarls, air crackling around him as his magic starts to lose control with his anger. Wong tries to gingerly maneuver himself out of the lifeless dark ropes to face Stephen, clearly in pain.

“I’m sorry—”

“Why can’t you just  _ trust  _ me for once?!” The anger in him is building. Stephen is vaguely aware of the little spock of evil next to it, gently rolling his explosive temper and lovingly nurturing its growth. “Didn’t you say you’ll always have my back? Why are you turning against me now?!”

“Stephen, wait. You’re not—”

“Don’t tell me to wait! I’m done listening to you!” Stephen growls. The air grows warmer. The evil in him quietly suggests harnessing his now trigger-happy magic to release his frustrations. Only his long years of training allow him to resist that temptation. “You literally went behind my back to try and kill him! I thought you’d be better than that! He thought he was  _ safe  _ with you!”

The flash of pained regret on Wong’s face does nothing but fuel the evil inside him.

“Stephen, calm down—”

_ “Don’t tell me to calm down!” _ Stephen snarls, dark and ugly. “God, I  _ never  _ should have told you about Tony! I never should’ve depended on you! I never should have confided in you! _ I never should’ve trusted you!  _ **_I fucking hate—!”_ **

Stephen stops himself from finishing that sentence with a pained wheeze. He drops to his knees, hands clutching his chest frantically. The air settles around him, buzzing magic dissipating and leaving the staleness of the Sanctum. Wong struggles to his feet.

“Stephen! Stephen, what’s wrong?!”

_ “—I don’t mean it. I don’t mean it, I don’t mean it, I don’t—!” _

The Cloak is frantically flying around in circles around him. Stephen struggles not to let his irritation grow, focusing on stopping the black growth in his chest. He belatedly notices the thin trails of smoky darkness stealthily crawling across the tiled floors. Following their trail, Stephen finds the inky mass corrupting Tony has indeed found its opportunity.

In  _ him _ .

“Stephen, you need to fight against it,” Wong quickly tells him, panic showing through his glazed eyes. “Breathe. Think something positive. Something happy.”

Nothing has been particularly happy since his fateful car crash. Stephen hasn’t been close to people since becoming a sorcerer. Wong and him were rather cautious friends, never really delving into the more sensitive parts of each other and instead bonding over their shared wit, humor, and dedication to their professions. His more joyous and vulnerable moments were with Mordo, having spent a lot of time with the other's amusing version of sarcasm. But those moments are now tinged with bitterness after Mordo's departure. 

As a result, there are no moments in his life since becoming a practitioner of the mystic arts that really stand out as a moment of happiness. It’s just been work, work, work. Little moments of rest. Satisfaction at a job well done. But nothing particularly happy or special.

Until Tony came around. Stephen used to despise Tony ever since he stood in front of him on the Q ship and refused to listen to him. But after watching Tony through 14 million different timelines, watching Tony willingly fight Thanos on Titan to the threat of death, watching Tony after he grimly realized what the one chance at winning meant for him and took it anyway, Stephen had grown to hold a sincere respect for the man.

When he had seen Tony’s ghost at first, Stephen was surprised to feel the sudden joy in his chest, and then the pity. After the altercation at the supermarket, Stephen felt concern and loss as he led Tony back to the Sanctum. After the emotional connection had been established between them, Stephen was amazed and sometimes jealous at the array of emotions the other man could feel, as well as their purity. 

When Tony continued to show concern for him, brashly forcing his way into Stephen’s work life for Stephen’s own benefit, Stephen felt a connection form, one reminiscent of the possibilities he had seen across various timelines. A connection he hadn’t felt in a long time after losing his sister, moving across the country away from his family, ending things with Christine—

Stephen feels like he had gained a real, close friend.

The boiling anger dies, replaced by a sudden and intense sadness. Wong watches him, eyes wide and confused, as Stephen starts crying right in front of him, tears flooding down his cheeks unbidden by anything but emotion.

“...Stephen?”

“Why can’t you just let me do this for him, Wong?” Stephen whimpers, hands reaching up to wipe away the tears. It was useless; they wouldn’t stop. Stephen gives up, feeling his body go slack with exhaustion all of a sudden. “Please. He’s a  _ friend _ . He gave his life for us. Why won’t you let me  _ help  _ him?”

Wong’s face melts into an expression of so many different feelings.

“Because  _ you’re _ my friend,” Wong replies quietly, eyes shining with genuine and raw emotion. “I lost you for 5 years. Then we lost Tony, but in exchange, I got you back. And I don’t want to risk losing you again.”

“But Tony—”

“He made his peace with death. We all moved on. I don’t want to let myself get dragged into false hopes.”

Stephen lets out a soft, disagreeing sound, wiping his tears. Dully, he opens a portal into Kamar-Taj’s infirmary. The sorcerers inside the building look up and gape at the scene of the Sorcerer Supreme crying in front of their resident librarian. Stephen ignores them, gesturing at the portal without looking at Wong.

“Go get yourself treated,” Stephen orders quietly. Wong’s face crumples.

“Stephen—”

“I’m tired, Wong,” Stephen interrupts quietly, sighing. He looks up at Wong with exhaustion. “Can we not? At least, not now? Later, when we’re all fine and ready to talk?”

Wong looks like he wants to protest, but eventually complies. The healers hurry over to Wong, helping him up and dragging him into the infirmary. Some of them hover around Stephen.

“Master Strange, we can take you as well—”

Stephen catches sight of a couple trainees walking toward Tony’s still form. The inky darkness lies eerily still.

“Stop!” he calls out, causing them to freeze and turn around. “Stay away from him. And I’m fine. I’ll handle everything here, just take care of Wong.”

“But sir, you—”

“It’s dangerous to treat me and him. Starting at this moment, the New York Sanctum is in quarantine until further notice. No one is allowed in.”

The healers look like unsure, but eventually nod in acknowledgement and file back into the recovery center. Stephen catches sight of Wong on a cot, with healers examining the burn marks. He senses the traces of evil on Wong growing in power.

“Place Wong on quarantine as well until those evil taints leave him,” Stephen orders, shakily getting back onto his feet. “Don’t use magic on the burns. You’ll only fuel the evil. Send word of his injuries once you finish treating him.”

Without waiting for a response, Stephen closes the portal. He immediately starts to go through the processes of putting the Sanctum on lockdown. All doors in the building lock themselves. All windows shut. All methods of transport in and out of the Sanctum are blocked. Once Stephen finishes mentally combing the Sanctum for entrances and exits, he stands up and heads over to Tony.

* * *

 

Stephen watches as Tony’s body lies still on his bed. The smoky black mass that had overtaken the ghost’s body is still there, resting intimidatingly on half of Tony’s chest and upper arm. It retreated a substantial amount after Stephen used the rune connecting him and Tony to forcibly bring the ghost into submission. But it’s a testament to the inky blackness’ strength that it still remains on Tony’s body, retreating slowly into the dead housing unit on Tony’s chest, waiting for something to reinvigorate the negative thoughts fueling its sentience.

Tony himself isn’t in good condition. Stephen’s eyes easily catalogue the differences between the Tony of this morning and the Tony before him. He’s scarily transparent, almost invisible on the sheets. There’s no color to him anymore. He’s merely a grayscale image of the colorful person he had left behind at the Sanctum. Stephen rubs his temples, trying to soothe the pounding ache in his head. He hears the unmistakable sound of paper on carpet and turns.

The Sanctum may be on lockdown, but communications are still open, mainly in the form of letters magically shoved under locked doors. Stephen opens a report from the recovery center. Wong suffered a nasty blow to his head, probably a severe concussion. Strange doesn’t expect to see him for a week. There were other injuries too. A few cracked ribs and a dislocated hip. Most concerning were the smoking, discolored burn marks on Wong’s body from Tony’s tendrils. Despite it, Wong is expected to recover without complications. 

The evil taint in his burns had quickly died away an hour ago. The sorcerer in charge of watching his progress hypothesizes that it is due to Wong’s distance from the “source of the evil”. Stephen presses his lips together at the reference to Tony, before looking at the next pieces of parchment that magically slide under the door. They’re all from the other Masters, sending their concerns for his safety. Only two of them blatantly chastises Stephen for keeping Tony around. The others are more polite and secretive of their distaste. One crackhead is interested in the research prospects that could arise from this opportunity.

Stephen tucks all the letters into a drawer. It will reappear in his personal quarters later in the night. For now, Stephen decides to give into the weariness and drop down against Tony’s bed, letting out a shaky sigh. He unwittingly rubs at his chest. There is a fading pain there, flaring every so often. And Tony's darker self had left a little gift for him next to his heart, a small taint of evil waiting to seize upon any moment of weakness. 

Stephen remembers the rune. Curiosity claiming him, he opens his palm upwards to look at it. The golden rune still harbors a red tint to its lower half. Stephen stares at it, mulling over its complications. The spell wasn’t meant for a connection between a living sorcerer and a residual spirit. This is entirely new territory. Stephen lets his hand fall into his lap, closing his eyes to rest for a moment against Tony’s door.

He can’t help but replay the conversation with Wong. Stephen suspects that the last recesses of Tony’s emotions used him as an outlet once Stephen shut Tony down. But he’s not entirely sure, once again, which emotions were his and which emotions were Tony’s. Were his words his own? Were his feelings his own? Stephen shakes his head, too tired to think about the blurred lines the emotion tracker spell imposed on him.

What he does know is that even if he has to fight every sorcerer in his order, he's willing to do whatever it takes to help Tony handle whatever he needs to before he advances to his afterlife. Stephen snorts at himself, rolling his eyes at the mere thought, and lets sleep pull him into a deep, deep slumber.

* * *

 

_ Tony stares at the bear. It’s a simple teddy bear, as big as a normal sized pillow. Soft to a gentle touch, firm to a hard squeeze. It’s customized with a Spider-Man suit similar to Peter’s, with intricate details only possible by Tony. He’s the one who designed Peter’s suit, after all. _

_ Pepper walks through the hallway past his lab, heels clicking as she flicks through her calendar on her tablet. She glances up, eyes zeroing in on the teddy bear before pursing her lips. _

_ “So are you going to Peter’s party or not? May says it already started,” Pepper asks, and unimpressed expression on her face as she stops and puts her hands on her hips. Tony wills himself to remain impassive. _

_ “Nah. Don’t really want to be surrounded by teenagers,” he pretends, chin propped on his work table while his body slouches on the bench. The Spider Bear stares back unblinkingly. It’s almost like it’s judging him. Pepper frowns irritatedly at him. _

_ “Tony.” _

_ “Mm?” _

_ “You’re gonna regret not going to his party later on.” _

_ “What? Why would I regret it? It’s a 12 year old’s birthday party. No one misses that.” _

_ “You’re both superheroes. It’s a blessing that he’s able to have normal moments like a birthday party. Plus, he’s 16 now. In a few years, birthday parties won’t mean a thing to him anymore.” _

_ “Eh, whatever. I’ll just go next year.” _

_ Pepper rolls her eyes at him. _

_ “Yeah, sure. You’ll just chicken out at the idea of getting closer to him.” _

_ “Hey! I resent that!” _

_ “Next year. You promise.” _

_ “This is extortion.” _

_ “What can I say? I’m a businesswoman. You want me to send that over?” _

_ Tony keeps staring at the bear. The bear doesn’t move. _

_ “I’ll...give it to him myself. The next time I see him.” _

_ “Mm-hm.” _

_ “I will!” _

_ He doesn’t. _

_ He keeps pushing back the time to give the Spider Bear to Peter, giving himself all kinds of excuses. Some are genuine, like the times the two needed to suit up in order to address a threat in the world. Other times they’re pathetic, like the times Peter visits the Compound and the bear is hidden behind a locked cabinet right next to Peter’s workstation. In the end, he isn’t even able to go to his next birthday party and give the Spider Bear to Peter. _

_ Because Peter fades to dust in his arms when he’s 16, fighting by his side on Titan, months before his 17th birthday as he looks Tony in the eye and apologizes for disappointing him, for leaving him, for dying in front of him and forcing Tony to bear the burden of grief for 5 long, long years. _

_ It’s Tony who should’ve apologized for not coming to his birthday. For not giving him the Spider Bear. For not putting more effort into cultivating a relationship with Peter. _

_ All because he was scared of getting closer to Peter. _

_ His regrets mean nothing now. He can’t fix it. _

_ Because now? Now he’s dead. _

* * *

 

Wong apparently doesn’t care that the Sanctum is under lockdown, or that he was supposed to be on bedrest. Stephen sighs as he strengthens the wards preventing any portals from being made inside the Sanctum. He had felt traces of Wong’s familiar magic attempting to open a gateway into the sanctuary. With all of them having been in close counters with Tony’s inner evil, Stephen immediately interrupted the process in the interest of safety.

A letter slides under the door. Wong’s familiar scribble is written across the front of the envelope. Stephen reads the large font with a touch of amusement.

OPEN THIS FUCKING LETTER AT THE VERY LEAST YOU DOUCHEBAG

Stephen complies, rolling out the stationary with careful hands. The rune in his right hand is throbbing, having acted up a few minutes ago. The bloody red is a glaring mark in his palm. Stephen thinks it actually seared itself a bit into his skin.

He puts the rune to the back of his mind as he starts to read the short letter.

_ Stephen, _

_ I’m sorry for going behind your back. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you to the natural evils brought along by wandering spirits. I know you feel a sense of obligation to Tony, and I know you two have bonded in the few days of living together. You’re both too similar. But I don’t want you to be put at risk again so soon after your return and Tony’s sacrifice. The Sanctum can’t afford to lose you again. I can’t stomach the thought of it again. _

_ Tony’s already dead, Stephen. We lost him. It’s okay to let him go. Just please don’t let him take you along with him as well. _

_ Wong _

Stephen gently places the letter in the magic drawer again before grabbing a piece of note paper and an ink pen. He scribbles a short response quickly, folding it twice before shoving it under the door.

_ Wong, _

_ I know it’s okay. But I’m choosing to take the chance of letting him truly rest in peace. He won’t drag me along with him. You won’t lose me. I promise you that. But you almost killed your friend. Our friend. Ghost or not, you were trying to kill him. Forgive me, but it will take some time and space before I can trust you again. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Stephen _

No response comes after that. Stephen checks over Tony one last time before heading down to the kitchens to make dinner.

* * *

 

Tony wakes up feeling a lot more weightless that he’s used to. He feels like he’s barely there, a wisp in the wind that can easily be snuffed out. Tony looks around his room, feeling light-headed and seconds away from fading away. It’s the guest room he frequently uses, bare to the bones with nothing but the bed, a dresser, and a bathroom. The door to his room is shut, which is unprecedented. Stephen knows he still can’t phase through walls. Tony looks down at his body, feeling his lips part slightly with surprise.

He’s very faint. So faint, that even Tony is having a hard time distinguishing the lines of his body. The housing unit on his chest is much more distinct and easier to distinguish, however. Tony thinks he should try tapping it to see if it’s solid, but something about the action makes his gut churn with uneasiness. So he refrains.

The door opens. Tony looks up to find Stephen walking in, carrying bowls of soup. He meets his eyes and gives him a faint smile.

“Hey. You’re awake.”

Tony nods. Stephen stares at him for a moment, contemplating. When he continues speaking, his voice is quiet.

“Can I close the door? For safety reasons.”

Again, Tony nods, too dazed to put much thought into it. Stephen turns and closes the door gently. Tony catches sight of a complicated network of sigils and runes briefly flare across the door before disappearing from existence. For some reason, he isn’t threatened by it.

Stephen crosses the room, settling himself down on a chair beside the bed Tony is listlessly floating above. He sets Casper’s Bowl on the dresser.

“It’s a local’s recipe from Kathmandu. You’ll like it.”

Tony nods. His body doesn’t float down of its own volition, however. So he merely tips his head. Stephen seems to understand the problem as he takes Tony’s bowl and holds it up to him.

“You better not fucking drop it,” the sorcerer jokes. Tony rolls his eyes at him instinctively. He reaches out for the bowl.

His hands pass right through it.

Stephen freezes. Tony strangely doesn’t feel anything. It’s like his emotions have been wrung out of him. Stephen, however, can’t quite hide the concern on his face fast enough.

“Shit. Was the damage that bad? I didn’t realize you needed a certain amount of spiritual energy in order to pick up Casper’s Bowl. How can we restore your energy reserves if you can’t eat?”

Tony stays silent, watching Stephen. Stephen finally looks up at him, a frown crossing his face.

“You haven’t said anything in a while. Is your throat okay?” he asks. Before Tony could even attempt a reply, Stephen continues. “And I haven’t felt anything coming from you since you woke up. What’s wrong?”

Tony struggles to find his voice. When he finally retrieves it, it is soft and quiet, uncharacteristic of his usual loudmouth persona.

_ “I feel really...detached,” _ Tony explains, unable to feel anything as he watches Stephen’s concern grow.  _ “Like I’m not really here. And I can’t...I can’t really feel anything either.” _

“That probably means you need more spiritual energy infused in you,” Stephen theorizes. Tony blinks slowly at him. He slowly remembers the situation that landed them in this position.

_ “Is Wong okay?” _ he asks. Stephen’s face slowly drains of his concern, replaced by a weariness he often sees in the other.

“He’s fine. He’s recovering at Kamar-Taj.”

Tony reads the emotions crossing Stephen’s face like a book.

_ “Don’t blame him for doing that.” _

“I don’t. I don’t blame him at all. But I can’t forgive him for it. Not yet.”

Tony feels the corners of his mouth turn downwards, despite his apathetic state. Stephen looks up at him with a bitter smile.

“Don’t look like that, Tony. It’s just a fight.”

_ “It’s your friendship.” _

“It’ll heal. Eventually.”

Tony snorts softly.

_ “What are you, an expert on friendships now? Mister I-Avoid-Social-Interactions-At-All-Costs.” _

“Shut up, Tony.”

Tony feels himself starting to return a bit after conversing with Stephen. He waits quietly as Stephen hums, thinking of a plan.

“Thinking over it, I think Peter might be one of the reasons behind those mysterious energy boosts you got in the past few days.”

The mention of Peter seems to tug a lot of Tony’s awareness back to reality.

_ “Why?” _

“It was always after you spent the day with him. And you mentioned he’s very attuned to your presence.”

_ “Why would he be giving me spirit energy?” _

Stephen gives him one last glance, clearly wondering if it was a good idea to tell Tony.

“Because….he might be the source of your Obsession.”

Tony blinked. He’s floating down to sit on top of the bed now in front of Stephen, still feeling abnormally light and airy.

_ “That...probably plausible.” _

“It’s a hypothesis. One I’d like to explore some other day once you gain your strength back.” Stephen steals a glance at his housing unit. “Is there any chance you could take that thing off, by the way?”

Tony looks down at it. The housing unit, which used to give him a sense of security before, now seems to instill dread in him. He hesitantly reaches up to touch it.

It’s solid and deathly cold.

Tony tries to tug it off, but it won’t come free into his hands. Stephen stops him.

“It’s fine, it was just a thought,” the sorcerer says. Tony lets his hands drop to his sides.

_ “So how am I going to get energy back from Pete?” _

“The Avengers meeting tomorrow. I’ll take you with me.”

_ “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Considering…” _

Tony has hazy memories of what happened. But he distinctly remembers cold murderous intent, Wong’s body hitting the floor, and a smoky jagged blade of darkness.

“It’s safer to keep you near me,” Stephen explains, arranging both bowls next to Tony’s on the dresser. Tony hadn’t even noticed he had put them down. “Keeping you locked up in the Sanctum might be counterproductive. If anything like today happened again, or if something else does, then I really will end up ‘with a ghost with a hell of a grudge haunting my fucking house’.”

Tony snorts at the call back.

_ “So what, now I’m being upgraded from your dirty little secret to your ever-present lap dog?” _

“Don’t make it weird, Tony. It’s only for a while. I’ll be able to keep an eye on you and respond faster if you’re always nearby.”

_ “Does this mean I get to come and see the mermaids with you?” _

“No. I’m taking a break from my usual duties. You’re...a bit too dangerous to leave alone anymore.”

_ “Why, thank you, doctor.” _

“Don’t mention it.”

_ “That was sarcasm, Stephen.” _

“I know what a joke is, Tony. I’m not that hopeless.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronan here. I'm sort of proud of how I wrote Tony's first descent into poltergeist madness. Short and quick, but deadly enough to make them all remember the dangers they're flirting with.
> 
> Don't blame Wong. He seems like the type who had grown up while adopting the mindset to never allow fleeting hope or dreams tempt him, and instead crush them himself to lessen the pain. Very strict, and very disciplined with himself when it comes to serious matters. Basically, he doesn't allow himself to hope, and prefers to cut out those chances to protect himself- and others. Stephen came back after 5 years, only to be faced with another prospect of death, this one originating from what Wong believes is misplaced charity for a fleeting chance not worth spending time on. Not when it risks Stephen's life.
> 
> The chapter started lagging a bit toward the end, sorry. I think I had a long day when I finished this chapter off. Actually, I'm not all that proud of this chapter (as always) except for the poltergeist Tony part.
> 
> The little breakdown Stephen had is meant to be uncharacteristic of him. Because it’s not all him. It’s not a “denial that he cares” kind of thing. The residual evil really is messing with Stephen.
> 
> Yeah, I don’t really know what I was doing here. I had a long day today.
> 
> If any of y'all are interested, I've made a Twitter account (@RonanVespertine) for my writing persona. There, I post random behind-the-scenes stuff, writing jargon, and shit about the life of a writer. If you’ve got questions, you can DM me!


	6. Dissonance Amongst Fragments

Tony thought that there was an unspoken agreement between Stephen and him to leave talking about the incident with Wong until tomorrow. Except tomorrow is now today, and Stephen looks like he wants to do anything but talk about it as he groggily eats his breakfast while sitting on the kitchen counter, clearly not willing to spare the extra effort of walking to the dining table in the next room. Tony is the master of avoidance—he knows it when he sees it. 

_ “You done hiding, Strange?” _

Stephen looks up from his plate of croissants and scowls at him.

“Are you really using my last name to express your annoyance at me, Stark?”

_ “Stephen.” _

Tony’s using his “no bullshit” tone that he uses with Morgan. Stephen sighs.

“Why do you want to talk about it?”

_ “Uh, because communication is key to a fruitful and loving relationship?” _

“You’re a married man.”

_ “‘Until death do us part’, right? And I am very clearly dead.” _

Stephen just gives him an awkward look.

Tony shakes his head.

_ “Y’know what, that was a very bad joke. I am very uncomfortable with myself right now. That was the worst joke I’ve ever made. Why did you need to be in your pajamas and eating your buttered croissants in front of me when I said that? This is the most awkward situation I’ve landed myself in since becoming a ghost. And I haven’t even walked in on you jerking off yet.” _

“Please stop making it weird,” Stephen deadpans.

_ “You’re literally the image of domesticity right now,” _ Tony continues, gleefully ignoring him. _ “I feel like I’m cheating on Pepper. I’m not cheating on Pepper, right? There’s nothing between us?” _

“If you don’t shut your mouth in the next five seconds, I’m exorcising you.”

_ “Stephen, I’m going to have to warn you right now. I’m very susceptible to dirty talk. Threats only turn me on. It’s a kink I discovered during my playboy days.” _

Stephen unapologetically abuses the rune’s properties to send Tony writhing in pain on the floor. As he clenches his teeth to cope with the magic shocks, Tony mentally derides Stephen for attacking an already wounded ghost.

_ “You know, it’s not a good idea to use that thing when I’m literally talking about kinks,” _ Tony grunts as he struggles to right himself.  _ “That thing can clearly be used in bed. You know that, right?” _

“I swear to god, Tony.”

_ “Pain play, sharing sensations, BDSM? I bet you a hundred bucks that some sorcerer out there has used this spell for one hell of a fun night.” _

Stephen now looks like he wants to kill him. At least he’s not trying to avoid Tony anymore.

Tony wisely avoids making more dirty jokes as Stephen stuffs the last bite of the croissant into his mouth. The sorcerer seems to be in a hurry as he haphazardly deposits his plate in the sink and strides out of the room. Tony follows him quickly.

_ “Why the rush?” _

“The meeting starts in 10 minutes and I woke up late.”

_ “Ooh, Mister Perfect’s running late?” _

“Shut up. Hey, don’t follow me into my bedroom!”

Tony feels the wind of the door slamming in front of him. Rude. He raises his voice for one last childish taunt.

_ “What are you, a teenager?! We’re both guys, Stephen!” _

The broom standing next to Stephen’s door falls through his ghost body without much success.

* * *

 

“Oh! Hey, Doctor Strange…?”

Peter trails off as he notices the hassled appearance of the sorcerer in front of him as Stephen steps onto the Compound’s tile floors from his golden portal. Peter tilts his head.

“Uh, should I ask…?” he wonders out loud. Stephen just gives Peter a look of tired frustration.

“Sorry. Just had a rough morning. I was  _ harassed _ while I tried to get here on time.”

Peter doesn’t really know what to make of Stephen glaring at the portal behind him. He sneaks a peek into the Sanctum. There doesn’t seem to be anybody there.

“Um, I’m sorry you had a rough morning,” Peter eventually says, watching as Stephen closes the portal. “If it makes you feel any better, we’re still waiting on the people who were supposed to call in for the teleconference.”

“Oh?”

“Valkyrie, Thor and the Guardians, Captain Marvel. Bruce just called in last-minute saying he had a situation to deal with. Weirdly enough, Wanda came early. She’s usually not so eager to talk.”

_ “It’s one of the many troubles of organizing superheroes spread out across the universe, kid. I don’t know how Natasha did it.” _

“Perhaps they got caught up in some conflict. As life always is for people like us. Should we head to the conference room and wait a while?”

Peter blinks rapidly before shaking his head. He wonders why he’s imagining Tony’s voice right now.

“Y—Yeah. It’s over this way,” Peter says, beckoning to the doors of the safe house. Stephen takes a moment to look at Peter, an unreadable expression crossing his face for an instant before it is wiped clean off and he’s stepping through the doors of the building. Peter follows the sorcerer quickly, taking a place next to him as they stroll through the halls. The red Cloak pulls off of Stephen’s shoulders and flies ahead of them, twirling around in front of Peter curiously.

“Hey! It’s been a while, apparently,” Peter greets cheerily. The Cloak shimmies in greeting.

_ “Don’t trust that damn curtain, Pete. It tried to knock me off the second floor of the Sanctum once.” _

Peter stiffens as the Cloak suddenly swats at something on the other side of Peter. He glances. There’s nothing there.

When he looks forward, he is acutely aware of Stephen’s gaze on him.

“Are you okay, Peter?”

“I’m fine,” Peter grits out, trying to will the sound of extra footsteps out of his head.  _ Tmp, tmp, tmp, tmp.  _ He shakes his head, redirecting his mind to the upcoming meeting. “Just nervous.”

* * *

 

The meeting is proving to be a mess.

“Yo! Quill! Can’t you get your tree friend to pay attention once in a while?”

Peter Quill glares at Sam Wilson through the hologram.

_ “Look, I handle my team the way I want to. Plus, I’m the captain. You really only need me to be a part of this. I don’t know why you insist on getting every single member of the Guardians here. Drax is difficult enough to wake up as it is.” _

_ “The Avengers have always taken pride in including every single one of its members in discussion,” _ Thor answers from his spot next to Quill. He ignores Quill’s glare as he burps, digging into his bag of space snacks.  _ “It’s a sentiment Steve has always harbored.” _

_ “Well, soldier boy isn’t here, is he?” _

“No, but I am,” Sam snaps, irritation crossing his features. “Now can you shut up so we can listen to Strange’s report?”

_ “I’m sorry, who are you again? Is this guy an Avenger?” _

_ “Clearly, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking to him, Peter Quill,” _ Valkyrie drawls, voice laced with boredom. Her hologram shows her brushing her winged horse in a rickety wooden stable over in New Asgard.  _ “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be talking to each other.” _

_ “Okay, fine. But who is he?” _

“Sam Wilson,” Sam replies, obviously trying to maintain his patience. “Formerly Falcon. I’m succeeding Steve Rogers as Captain America.”

_ “What kind of dumb ass name is ‘Falcon’?” _

_ “You should have introduced yourself at the beginning of the meeting instead of diving straight into reports,” _ Carol criticizes. Sam narrows his eyes at her.

“Aren’t you former Air Force, new girl?”

_ “So what if I am?” _

“You know I probably outrank you.”

_ “Emphasis on the ‘former’, Wilson. And I don’t answer to you.” _

“Oh, come on guys, he’s Captain America now!” Scott complains, propping his feet up onto the table. He refuses to acknowledge Rhodey’s pointed glare at his legs as he digs into his chili fries. “Captain America is supposed to be the leader of the Avengers, right?”

“Ehhhhh...”

_ “Pfft. Yeah, right.” _

_ “Since when did we have a leader? I wasn’t told this.” _

“Of course Steve was the leader of the team, what are you playing at?”

“Weren’t we just talking about equality among the team?”

_ “I refuse to follow the orders of someone I’ve barely met.” _

Sam narrows his eyes at Carol, who returns his steely gaze head on. He clicks his tongue.

“Y’know, I heard stories about you, Danvers. Great pilot, fantastic mastery of any fighter jet. But you could never learn to understand your place in the ladder of authority.”

_ “Is it a crime to speak my mind?” _

“No, but none of your smart comments contributed something worthwhile to the discussion.”

_ “I believe my purpose was clear and evident.” _

“Is it? And what purpose would that be?”

_ “You aren’t suited to lead the team. Captain America or not, we should pick a different leader.” _

The room explodes into a cacophony of heated arguing. Peter shrinks away from the chaos, feeling caged in the rather large conference room. He’s seated next to Stephen, in a spot at the round table that’s less involved in the battle of words. On his other side, a hologram of T’Challa and Shuri stands. The Black Panther is observing the room with watchful eyes, face giving nothing away as he stands eerily still amongst the chaos.

Shuri fidgets impatiently next to her brother, tapping irritatedly at her kimoyo beads as she absorbs the information on the hologram. Her brow twitches imperceptibly as the arguing starts to meld into an indecipherable melting pot of voices.

_ “Brother, can I go? This meeting is pointless if the Americans are just going to fight all day.” _

_ “No, Shuri. It’s disrespectful. And not all of them are American.” _

_ “Ugh.” _

_ “You were the one who wanted to see if you could gather inspiration from the technology and powers of our colleagues.” _

_ “Some colleagues they are. How on earth did we manage to fight together against Thanos?” _

Shuri notices Peter watching them curiously. She grins and waves at him.

_ “Hello, ignorant white American boy!” _

_ “Shuri!” _

“Hi…?” Peter responds hesitantly. Shuri points to him.

_ “Look at this one. Calm, and can take a joke. Brother, they should put this one in charge of the Avengers.” _

_ “Do not fuel the fires, Shuri. And he has a name.” _

“I’m Peter Parker,” Peter introduces awkwardly, hands twitching for an impossible handshake. Shuri gives him a blinding smile.

_ “Nice to meet you, Peter. My name is Shuri.” _

“Likewise.”

_ “What hero are you?” _

“Oh. I’m Spider-Man.”

_ “Ah! Really?! What a coincidence! I’ll just start my research with you. You share some likeness with my brother in regards to agility.” _

“Thank you. That’s a high compliment, coming from Wakanda’s lead engineer.”

_ “You flatter me. You and I are going to get along very, very well, Peter Parker.” _

The argument is escalating in volume. Stephen sighs and rubs his temples from beside Peter, drawing his attention. Peter turns away from Shuri (who is starting to harass her brother again) and checks over him in concern.

“Are you okay, Doctor Strange?”

“Peachy,” Stephen replies in a flat tone. Peter frowns, then turns back to the table. No one seems to be willing to stop the argument. Either the heroes are fighting, or waiting for things to get especially heated. Others look like they’re waiting for someone else to take charge, not inclined to intervene themselves.

Peter sighs. He wonders how Tony handled a team of superheroes.

“Hey, guys?” Peter calls, trying to adopt a soothing tone. His voice is lost in the angry snaps washing over each other. No one turns to him, too caught up in their own world. “Guys!”

“—you when they were planning the entire Time Heist out?”

_ “I told you, I was attending to trouble in other parts of the universe. You Terranians always seem to have this idea of being the center of everything.” _

“You’re a human too.”

_ “I have blue blood and photonic powers. I’m more than you.” _

_ “Thor, what did I say about—don’t touch my shit, you alcoholic bastard!” _

_ “By Odin’s beard, may I go back to attending my country now?” _

“Hank, you doing all right? Want some altoids?”

“God, this is hopeless. Just imagine if Stark was a part of this? It’d be a riot.”

_ Slam! _

“HEY!” Peter bellows. The room instantly falls silent, eyes snapping to him. Peter belatedly realizes that he couldn’t quite control his anger when he slammed his hands on the table, so now his handprints are forever imbedded in the steel. “Can we just drop it and move on? Who cares who the leader is! It’s just preliminary reports! We don’t need an appointee to guide the discussion!”

Sam can’t resist the triumphant smirk he shoots at Carol. Peter glares pointedly at him. Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, baby cakes. We’ll stop. Strange, what you got for us, man?”

Shuri is mimicking finger guns at him when Peter retakes his seat. He shoots a strained smile at her as Stephen clears his throat.

“There are a few threats to this dimension that may become a problem in the future if the Masters of the Mystic Arts can’t contain them,” Stephen starts. “One is a demonic entity named Mephisto. He has been entertaining thoughts of conquering our dimension. I suspect he’ll be making an attempt to conquer our world soon, so I would appreciate your help if that time comes.”

_ “Of course, Doctor Strange.” _

“Danvers, you’re fucking light years away. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Another concerning problem is the entity known as Nightmare. He feeds off of psychic energies from subconscious minds, especially in the land of dreams.”

“What is with all these weird villain names?”

“Shut up, Scott. Really not the time.”

“He has been using the grief and suffering of this universe throughout the five years we were gone,” Stephen continues, giving no acknowledgement to the interruption. “Upon my return, we reinstated the barriers to guard against his influence. It’s safe to say he doesn’t appreciate my return from the dead. Not only that, but the trauma and suffering of the Vanished and the ones who were spared are only fueling his powers.”

“How long until he becomes a problem?” Rhodey asks. Stephen shrugs.

“I can never be too sure. Immortal entities tend to be quite fickle with humanity.”

“Well, let us know if you ever need any back-up. Not sure how we gonna fight against bad dreams, though.”

“I will.”

“Anything else, Doctor Strange?” Wanda asks suddenly. Everyone peers at her in confusion. The Scarlet Witch hadn’t said anything until this point. Stephen crooks a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Not really?” Stephen responds in confusion, a little unnerved by Wanda's piercing gaze. The woman doesn’t seem to waver in any way. “Everything else, our sorcerers can handle.”

“Then why can I sense a tint of evil within you?” Wanda presses, face intent. “And a conscious mind not of this world floating beside you?”

Stephen stiffens as everyone turns to him. He feels Tony’s momentary panic blend with his own.

“I’m not quite sure what you are insinuating, Miss Maximoff,” Stephen responds slowly.

“I don’t mean to be suspicious or accusatory,” Wanda replies, eyes growing a little colder. “But you have a habit of keeping secrets from us.”

“Some of the things I know aren’t meant for you to learn.”

“They are if you bring them to this meeting with a majority of our heroes present.”

“I understand the concern, but there is no need to worry. I wouldn’t bring any harm to the Avengers, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“There is an energy lurking around Peter,” Wanda continues, expression growing stubborn. “My powers originate from the Mind Stone. I can sense a being capable of thought processes near him. And the taint of evil residing in your chest may be dormant, but I can tell it has dangerous potential.”

The room is silent, a stark contrast from a few moments prior. Everyone is looking at Stephen with varying degrees of suspicion. Thor merely looks confused, glancing around the room every so often. Quill, however, is watching the proceedings with a sharp eye, glancing at Stephen once in a while with concern. Peter is looking back and forth between the two magic-users with wide eyes, confused and unable to say anything. 

Stephen’s mind is racing. He grits his teeth as Tony hesitantly steps away from Peter. Wanda’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“You moved the energy away from him.”

Stephen doesn’t answer her. The tension in the room is thick and palpable.

“Okay, wizard boy,” Clint chimes in, eyes glinting with danger as he leans a bit closer across the table. “‘Fess up. I know Stark trusted you for some reason, but you’re a part of a bigger team now. No secrets are allowed.”

Tony fidgets uncomfortably from behind Stephen.

“Uh, Stephen? You’re kind of in a tough spot,” he whispers. Stephen tries not to roll his eyes.

_ No shit, Sherlock. _

“The nature of the entities you sense with me is best left alone, Miss Maximoff,” Stephen explains slowly. Wanda doesn’t answer. Stephen watches as her eyes turn red. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to read my mind, either. It is information of a very sensitive nature.”

Wanda ignores him, and the red tendrils of her magic float toward him. Stephen thinks quickly. He can’t attack her, it would only fuel the distrust in him. But he also cannot let anyone know of Tony’s existence. Not only would the questions risk overwhelming Stephen and possibly contribute to idiotic ideas of ressurrection, the knowledge of Tony’s existence might prove more damaging to his closest peers. Stephen’s not sure if anyone is willing to lose Tony Stark one more time.

Peter suddenly stands up and throws a hand in front of Stephen, creating a useless barrier between Wanda’s magic floating a mere foot away from Stephen’s head. The red aura stills its progress.

“Peter,” Wanda mutters, fixing Peter with a frown. Peter only shakes his head at her.

“Look, I trust Doctor Strange. Okay?” Peter presses. Stephen watches the teenager defend his honor to one of the arguably most powerful women in the room. “He’s the one who helped us get to this 1 in 14 million chance. If he says it’s something we shouldn’t know, then we shouldn’t ask.”

“I sensed an evil in his heart, Peter,” Wanda tries to coax, hostile expression breaking into heartfelt concern. Idly, Stephen grumbles to himself. Why does he get the bad treatment? “What if he’s compromised? Especially after he just told us of a being who draws powers from people’s fears. We need to make sure.”

“I can tell,” Peter declares. “My Spider Sense is good at detecting danger. He’s not a threat.”

“Kid, what if your Spider Sense can be tricked?”

“Then Tony trusted him. That should be enough, right?”

“He sent Tony to his  _ death _ .”

The air in the room drops heavily. Stephen feels something cold grip his heart, and the evil tendril in his chest twitches. Peter looks at Sam with wide eyes.

“What? What are you—?”

“There is no way there was only 1 in 14 million chances of winning,” Sam accuses, glaring at Stephen sharply. Stephen returns his gaze steadily, a contrast against the cold wave of water that had crashed against him. “That’s just not possible.”

“I would be happy to explain the intricacies surrounding the circumstances for that 1 in 14 million chance,” Stephen responds cooly, only letting go of a little bite into his words. “But the tool I need for that has been reduced to atoms.”

“Yeah. Very convenient.”

“Hey,” Peter protests, frowning at Sam. Sam meets Peter’s eyes disinterestedly. “You don’t get to treat him like that. Especially if all your accusations are based on speculation.”

“I’ve worked with Wanda for years. I trust her. You should sit down, kid. This is grown-up business.”

“I’m an Avenger too,” Peter snaps. 

“Yeah? Who made you one?”

“Tony did.”

“He was probably desperate during Germany, kid. At that point, the Avengers meant nothing to him.”

Oh, shit. Stephen catches Rhodey frowning a bit.

“Excuse me? He tried to keep the Avengers from prosecution. Of course he cared about the team!”

“Not enough if he tore it apart.”

“Sam,” Bucky interrupts, gaining Sam’s attention for a moment. “Drop it. Drop the whole Accords thing. That’s long done and over with, and there’s a lot more to it that Steve and Tony didn’t tell you.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Oh, great. More secrets,” he grumbles. “Look, kid. Stand aside so that we can at least grill the magic doctor here.”

If anything, Peter stands more solidly in front of Stephen.

“No! You’re being unfair!”

“I don’t know if you understand this, but the Avengers have the responsibility of protecting  _ lives _ . It’s a step-up from your boy scout vigilantism on the streets. So listen to the adult, and sit down.”

“‘Listen to the adult’? You can’t even listen to each other.”

“Are we pointing fingers now, Underoos? Grow up.”

“ **Don’t** use that name with me,” Peter growls. Stephen sees Tony flinch out of the corner of his eye. Neither of them had ever heard such a dangerous tone from the young boy.

_ “Wilson, the kid’s an equal,” _ Carol interrupts, a calculating expression on her face. She looks slightly concerned. _ “And Tony Stark definitely knows his worth. You should listen to him.” _

“Danvers, stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Sam snaps. Peter scoffs.

“Y’know, you’re acting like a real douchebag for someone Captain America entrusted his shield to,” Peter taunts childishly.

“I’m acting like a captain. What are you acting like? A child. I don’t recall Tony really giving you much of anything besides a cute little red-and-blue onesie.”

“Sam, watch what you’re saying,” Rhodey warns cautiously, eyes flicking between Sam and Peter. Both of them ignore him.

“That’s because you guys left Tony behind. As if you really saw how much effort he put in for you guys. Some teammates you are—”

“Oh, and you think you're the perfect little sidekick to your lifelong hero, Spider-Baby? How about we look at the facts? You were on Titan with him. He got stabbed. Thanos got the Time Stone. And he was left stranded out in space, malnourished and about to die because  _ you  _ didn’t do your job right. And now, he’s  _ dead, _ because all y’all couldn’t do a proper job on Titan. You’re supposed to watch each other’s six in a team, y’know? Did a real great job with that, did ya?”

“Sam!”

Stephen can’t quite react fast enough as Peter shoots a string of webs at his chair and hurls it at the other. The sorcerer quickly restrains Peter with his magic whips, standing up and glaring as Sam knocks the chair away and reaches for the shield on his back.

“Sam Wilson. Stop,” Stephen growls. Sam grits his teeth, but obeys. Peter struggles against him for a moment before falling eerily still, body tense and taut with anger. “Peter—”

“Let me go, Doctor Strange.”

Stephen complies. Peter immediately starts walking towards the doors quickly. Sam rolls his eyes.

“What, you gonna throw a tantrum now? I swear, Tony shouldn’t have picked up some 12 year old—”

Peter shoots across the room so fast, few could even react. Clint’s hands are webbed to the table before he can even reach for his bow and arrows. Bucky’s arm is placed in the same position. Wanda’s blinded by a face full of spider webs. Sam’s eyes widen as he suddenly finds himself face to face with Peter, one of the Iron Spider’s sharp legs positioned against his throat.

“Talk down to me again, and I’ll show you  _ exactly  _ the kind of kid Tony picked,” Peter growls. Sam’s eyes narrow.

“You little punk—”

“Boys!” Hope interrupts sharply. Peter doesn’t bother to acknowledge her as he stands back on the table, Iron Spider leg retreating through his torn shirt. He leaps off the table, heading through the doors roughly and disappearing into the hallway.

Stephen sighs. Tony’s constant worry being fed through the bond is doing nothing for his headache. The rest of the room devolves into murmurs.

“Nice one, Sam.”

“What?! Kid was being a little brat!”

_ “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Mister Wilson, but you didn’t have to vindicate a teenager for it.” _

“If the kid thinks he’s an Avenger, he better be ready for the tougher parts of the job. I’m only helping him.”

_ “Is that how Steve Rogers trained you, then?” _

Sam doesn’t answer. Stephen shakes his head, not wanting to be a part of whatever insecurities Sam was taking out on the team.

“Look, if no one trusts my presence in this alliance, I’m content with leaving.”

“Shit, Strange. We didn’t mean that. Fucking  _ Clint _ .”

“What the fuck did I do?!”

“Regardless, I refuse to take part in this meeting if people will only pressure me into revealing my secrets,” Stephen announces, walking around the table and heading for the door. “If I’m still welcome at the next gathering, please send word. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check on Tony’s ward.” Stephen can’t help but fix Sam with a pointed stare. “He’s still in the middle of  _ grieving _ , after all.”

“Fucking  _ Sam _ .”

“Oh, come on. Don’t pin it all on me!”

Stephen leaves the room, shutting the door before he can hear the chaos develop in the conference room once again. He quickly walks through the halls as Tony speed walks in front of him.

“Tony, slow down.”

“He’s probably in the gym blowing off steam,” Tony throws back, ignoring Stephen. It seems that the last hour of being in Peter’s presence restored a good amount of spiritual energy in the hero. The ghost is buzzing with worried energy, unknowingly causing the ceiling lights to flicker a little. Stephen throws his hands in the air but continues to follow Tony through the winding halls of the half-finished Compound. “We gotta talk to him—”

“Tony. You’re dead. How’re you going to talk to him?”

Tony slows to a stop. Stephen feels Tony’s conflicting emotions, and tries for a gentler tone as he draws up to a close stop behind him.

“Look, I know you’re worried about your ward. But you have to calm down. I can talk to him for you while you watch,” Stephen reasons.

Tony lets out a sardonic snort.

“No offense, Strange, but have you ever dealt with a teenager?”

“I’ve dealt with grieving families in hospitals.”

“I can’t help but remember comments about your lacking bedside manner.”

“Tony.”

Tony lets out a heavy sigh.

“....fine.”

* * *

 

Peter’s angry.

He’s angry at the rest of the Avengers for being a mess. He’s angry at the world for being so cold in the face of Tony’s death. He’s angry at himself for letting his uncharacteristic temper get the best of him.

Peter’s just angry at everything. So he’s taking it out on the nanotechnology sparring robots Tony had invented for use in the Compound with Peter’s help. The teenager is a flurry of activity. Smash, punch, swing, kick. He set the robots to fight at the highest mob level, one of their hardest settings. It was Tony’s idea. His mentor had foreseen the possibility of Peter going up against villains who weren’t your run-of-the-mill thieves. So he had programmed this feature to train Peter for the possibility.

Peter bets that Tony never thought that these robots would serve as a therapeutic tool for him.

Smash, punch, swing, kick.

Smash, punch, swing, kick.

Smash. Punch. Swing. Kick.

The doors to the indoor training drill room open just as Peter smashes the last robot into oblivion. Heaving in large breaths, Peter glances at the door to find Doctor Strange standing at the entrance, watching him.

“Hello, Peter,” Doctor Strange calls. Peter bites his lip and sighs.

“Hello, Doctor Strange.”

“May I come in? To talk?”

_ “Really? That’s the best you can do, Stephen? God, no wonder your bedside manners sucked.” _

Peter shakes his head furiously to get rid of the hallucionary voice in his head.

“Yeah, yeah, you can come in.”

Doctor Strange walks into the drill room, letting the doors seal shut behind him.  Peter runs a hand through his soaked hair as he calls out to the ceiling.

“FRIDAY, close my training session, please.”

_ “Session closed. Your training results have been recorded. Today, you fulfilled a personal best of 146 enemy units neutralized per minute. Good job, Peter.” _

Peter lets a grim smile appear on his face.

“Thanks, FRI.”

Doctor Strange is waiting for him by the resting station in the corner of the room. Peter walks over, shaking out droplets of sweat from his hair as he walks over to his cubby and grabs his water bottle. His torn shirt is practically waterlogged from the intense workout. Peter takes a second to down almost half of the flask before letting it pop off his lips with a sigh.

“Man, I needed that. Back when I dreamt of becoming an Avenger, I didn’t think it’d be this frustrating to work with the rest of the team,” Peter jokes, giving Doctor Strange a wide smile. Doctor Strange returns it.

“To be fair, the team has gone through some monumental changes in a short amount of time.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though, does it?”

Peter puts back his water flask and rummages around his backpack for a post-workout snack.

_ “Miss Potts has refurbished the Compound’s kitchen area, Peter. You are free to its contents. There is an assortment of fruits, vegetables, specially modified granola bars, and other snacks ready for your consumption.” _

“Oh. Thanks, FRI.”

_ “You’re very welcome, Peter.” _

“Tony’s AI is...very advanced,” Doctor Strange comments, looking around for FRIDAY’s cameras. Peter smiles at the hidden awe on the sorcerer’s face.

“Yeah. FRIDAY isn’t usually this familiar or perceptive with me, though.”

“Oh? Why the change?”

Peter presses his lips together as he finishes packing his things and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“....I guess she missed me,” Peter replies vaguely. They head toward the entrance, Doctor Strange falling into step beside Peter easily. Peter tries to block out the sound of extra steps beside him once again.

“You know, I  _ am  _ a former doctor, Peter. You can tell me anything in confidence.”

Peter grins.

“I thought you were a neurosurgeon, not a therapist?”

“I am still trained in addressing a patient’s mental health. To a degree.”

“I kind of remember some reviews about Metro-General’s Doctor Strange who was a miracle maker with his hands but a disaster with bedside manners,” Peter teases.

Doctor Strange throws up his hands in exasperation.

“You, too? When am I going to get away from this teasing?”

Peter laughs. The elevator doors slide open before Peter can even press the call button. They step inside, and the doors close of their own volition. The elevator starts moving up.

“So? Would you like to tell me more about why Tony’s AI has gotten more familiar with you?”

Peter’s fingers start to play with the hem of his shirt.

“...Tony gave FRIDAY a protocol at some point,” Peter begins quietly. Doctor Strange nods, showing his attention. “It’s called the Administrator Inheritance Protocol. FRIDAY told me about it when I first stepped into the Compound with Pepper. She said…”

Peter pauses. Doctor Strange waits for him to gather his thoughts.

“...She said that in the event of Tony’s death,” Peter continues slowly, “Mister Stark wanted her to grant me full administrative privileges to her. Like, comparable to his control. One, because I’m the only one who he’s taught to maintain her programming and improve it. And two...because he wanted me to have FRIDAY’s assistance after he’s gone.”

Doctor Strange doesn’t say anything for a while. The elevator slows to a stop and lets out a  _ ding _ as they arrive at the floor. The doors slide open, revealing the Compound’s living area. Peter and Doctor Strange walk out, heading past the living room and toward the open kitchen.

“I know that there’s a protocol in her telling her to recognize me as her boss,” Peter continues, firmly keeping his gaze straight ahead. “But...I get the feeling that this is kind of her own way of grieving, you know? Without Tony, she feels like she has no purpose in the world anymore. So she’s trying to make me her new reason for existing.”

“That’s...insightful of you,” Stephen says carefully. Peter smiles.

“You don’t have to pretend, Doctor Strange. I know it sounds silly.”

“No, no it doesn’t.” Peter snorts at the hurried response. “And you can just call me Stephen, Peter.”

“Sure, Doctor Strange,” Peter jokes.

Peter walks into the kitchen and raids the refrigerator. He finds a couple juice pouches and some fruit cups. When he goes to raid the cabinets, Peter finds some specially made granola bars with a recipe tailored to his specific metabolism. A recipe Tony had created once they had found out about the problems Peter’s rapid metabolism posed. Peter feels his heart clench a little as he grabs five of them. The two sit down at the kitchen island, with Peter immediately digging into his snack pile as he waits for Doctor Strange to ask his questions.

“How are you doing, Peter?”

“Fine,” Peter answers around a mouthful of peaches. Doctor Strange merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. Peter presses his lips together as he swallows. “Y’know, Doctor Strange, you don’t have to feel obligated to check up on me. I can handle myself.”

“I’m certain you can,” Doctor Strange agrees easily, which Peter doesn’t expect. “But the grieving process is a difficult one, and it’s not something you should do entirely on your own.”

Peter quiets for a moment.

“I just...so many things have changed,” Peter finally says. Doctor Strange doesn’t say anything, so he continues. “We were gone for five years.  _ Five years _ . Half of my graduating class already graduated and they’re now in college or working or just living the adult life. And Tony…”

Peter clenches his juice pouch.

“Tony...he had a family,” Peter whispers. His voice breaks, but he continues on unsteadily. “He finally married Pepper. I was supposed to be one of his groomsmen, but I  _ died _ . I can’t even ask how the wedding went, because Pepper’s trying to move on and Rhodey is busy sorting out Avenger stuff with the new government. And Tony had a kid, Doctor Strange. A  _ kid. _ ”

Doctor Strange resolutely doesn’t turn to see the tears on Peter’s cheeks.

“I know. Morgan, was it?”

“Yeah,” Peter mutters, wiping away the tears. They keep coming. “She’s so  _ young _ , sir. Barely five years old. And...she’s so much like Mister Stark. She speaks like him, has the same comebacks as him, has the same humor as him. I just…”

Peter lets out a tortured whimper.

“I just miss him. I miss Tony.”

Peter feels warmth envelope him that isn’t from a solid body.

_ “I know, Pete. I know. I miss you, too, kid.” _

Peter lets out a strangled noise and curls in on himself, hiding his face in his arms. The warmth doesn’t leave.

“And sometimes, I feel like I’m going crazy,” Peter whispers, taking comfort in the darkness that his cocooned arms provide. “Sometimes, I feel like he’s right beside me. Hugging me, or messing with me. Or just looking out for me. This entire time, I’ve been trying to get rid of the sense that he’s walking beside me when he’s not really there. But I keep hearing his footsteps. And sometimes...Sometimes, I can still hear his voice.”

There is a long, awkward pause.

_ “...Is this when I’m supposed to yell, ‘Stop telling everyone I’m dead’?” _

Peter nearly screams.

“Doctor Strange, am I going insane?” Peter asks faintly.

Peter doesn’t see Doctor Strange’s panicked glare at something over his shoulder.

“Uh, no. No, you’re not. You’re not going insane.”

“Then why am I hallucinating things?”

“You’re just...Your brain is just giving you the things you want to hear. Small things about Tony you don’t remember. It’ll go away with time.”

“When?”

“I’m...not sure.”

_ Some neurosurgeon you are, _ Peter thinks bitterly before banishing the thought from his head.  _ No, that’s not fair to Doctor Strange. Get a grip on yourself, Peter. _

“What Wanda said in the conference room,” Peter says slowly, “Combined with all the stuff I’ve been imagining about Tony...Sometimes, it makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Whether ghosts are real.”

There’s a suspicious silence from the other. Peter turns his head curiously toward the other. Doctor Strange is wearing a carefully blank expression on his face.

“ _ Are _ they real, Doctor Strange?” Peter asks curiously. Doctor Strange looks at him for a long moment.

“.....It’s a possibility,” he answers after a while, reluctantly. Peter nods in contemplation.

“Have you ever seen one?”

Doctor Strange presses his lips together.

_ “Don’t lie to him, Strange.” _

“.....yes.”

Peter frowns at him. Doctor Strange starts to explain.

“It’s like I said in the meeting, Peter. Some things aren’t meant for you to know,” Doctor Strange explains quietly. Peter nods.

“Okay. I trust you.”

Doctor Strange smiles at him, a bit taken aback.

“You’re a very trusting person, Peter.”

Peter smiles.

“I try to be. It gets tiring, you know? Keeping secrets, lying all the time.”

“Indeed. I’m sure Tony would be proud of the person you’ve become, Peter.” After a strange pause, Doctor Strange adds on. “He always was.”

Peter laughs.

“How would you know? You barely met him.”

Doctor Strange gives him a secretive smile.

“I just know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Ronan here!
> 
> I’ve always had the idea that if Tony and Stephen were friends, Tony would use his flirtatious part of his personality to get on Stephen’s nerves. It would drive Stephen insane!
> 
> As for Sam, he’s going through some stuff. Honestly, I haven’t really watched the entirety of the MCU, and from what little I’ve seen of Sam, he seems like he’s got a good head on his shoulders. But either way, I think Sam would struggle to carry on Captain America’s legacy. (Something he kind of shares in common with Peter. Although I like to think of Spider-Man as his own hero.) At the end of Endgame, he says something about how the shield doesn’t fit or it’s really heavy or something. He knows the title of Captain America has its own heavy weight. And I think he’ll struggle with it.
> 
> Here, Sam is accidentally taking out his own insecurities out on the team. He’s trying too hard to do a perfect job, to the point where it starts to grate on the team relations. He’s too absorbed with how to do his job that he’s forgetting that he needs to consider his teammates as allies and not soldiers.
> 
> Carol just doesn’t really seem like a team player anymore to me. She’s more of a powerful solo hero, like Spider-Man, who’ll team up only if it’s necessary. After what happened in “Captain Marvel”, it’s understandable that she’d have problems with any type of rigid leadership, which is something Sam is trying to establish.
> 
> Now, the Rogue Avengers spent 2 long, hard years together after Civil War. I think they’d trust each other the most after that kind of experience, being hunted down. I don’t think Steve and Bucky would’ve told the team that Tony’s parents were killed by the Winter Soldier, per se, but they would tell them that Tony was pissed because Steve kept a very important secret from him. (Wouldn’t want to dishonor Tony by straight up telling others so freely while it took a fallout over international law and a revenge plot by a Sokovian man to tell him, hm?) So Sam’s in the dark, and thus he doesn’t really understand the intricacies of Tony and Steve’s fallout. Combine that with 2 years on the run as war criminals, Sam might’ve developed a grudge against Tony, and maybe been a little irritated at Steve for not telling him what happened.
> 
> I don’t know, I’m shooting in the dark here. The point is, Sam still has those 2 years of exile fresh on his mind since returning from the dead. And he’s pressured by his new job as Captain America. So he’s saying things he normally wouldn’t say. I think Sam would actually understand and honor Tony’s sacrifice in Endgame, though. I mean, a man who gives up his life for the universe? That’s something he can honor.
> 
> Sam’s suspicious of Doctor Strange because he trusts Wanda over him, and he doesn’t want secrets in his team, because apparently, secrets were what screwed everyone over in Civil War. He never really liked Doctor Strange anyway. (After all, him giving up the Time Stone willingly to Thanos doesn’t really look good when you hear it from rushed, secondhand accounts.) As for Peter, Sam’s trying to create the best Avengers team possible, and he doesn’t really think a scrawny teenager from Queens belongs on it. Especially if Tony recruited him, because lord knows the dude makes hella crazy decisions (Ultron doesn’t look good on his record, cough). Sam’s basically trying to drive him out, isolate him. Which is pretty douchey.
> 
> Now, Doctor Strange and Peter. Ehhh, their discussion was written a long, long time ago that I can’t really remember what I was doing. It might’ve been written before I completed the outline for the entire fic. So I might edit that bit later on in the game.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! I might skip an update on the 29th (2 weeks from now) because I’ll be on vacation and I’m falling a bit behind on writing schedule, but I’ll let y’all know in the next chapter. Please leave a comment about your thoughts! And I’ll see y’all in the next chapter!


	7. The Pain of Possibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Aelaer, whose comments on Chapter 3 really helped push me to a better understanding of Doctor Strange. This chapter is dedicated to them!

Stephen Strange may be the human with the most knowledge of the inner workings of the mystical universe, but sometimes the sorcerer proves to Tony exactly how much of a moron he is.

“Why can’t we just  _ tell _ him?” Tony whines for the hundredth time that morning. Stephen stabs at his pancakes a little harder than usual, sighing harshly.

“What are you, a 3rd grader? Stop bugging me about it and eat your pancakes.”

Tony pokes dejectedly at the blue pancakes on Casper’s Plate.

“At least you finally got the rest of the table set,” Tony grumbles as he stabs his new ghost fork into a slice.

It’s been a few days since the Avengers meeting, where Peter and Sam had a drastic fallout amongst the rest of the team. According to Stephen, Peter has been completely avoiding any interactions with the new Captain America, temporarily ditching his duties as the Avengers’ media face. Tony had watched a recent press release from over the shoulders of a few teens that had huddled on the Sanctum’s doorstep smoking pot. (Stephen came soon after and scared them away with the Cloak. What a dick.) Sam may have been answering the few questions he took politely, but Tony knows the military man’s hatred for public relations. Especially after the Accords. The ghost would’ve bet anything that Sam was seething under the surface for being handed Spider-Man’s job for the time being.

Tony is still under lockdown, and it’s starting to get on his nerves. Stephen really had left his duties as Sorcerer Supreme for a while, meaning he was more often seen around the Sanctum. There have been a surprising amount of times where he and Stephen just sat in the library, each reading their own material, for hours on end. It was nice. And if the sorcerer was feeling particularly charitable, he’d take some time to explain the parts of the Mystic Arts that Tony couldn’t understand.

Other times, he told Tony to go fuck himself.

However, one good thing the lockdown brings is plenty of time to bug Stephen with telling Peter of Tony’s existence.

“Come  _ on! _ Seriously, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like there’s some rule against telling people,” Tony argues. Stephen closes his eyes as he gestures at the bottle of maple syrup. Tony watches the bottle pop open and float over to Stephen’s plate, practically drowning his pancakes with sweetness. “And I never took you for someone with a hell of a sweet tooth.”

“I need more syrup if I’m going to be stuck with you pestering me all day again,” Stephen replies, waving away the bottle. Tony wrinkles his nose.

_ Those pancakes have to be soggy beyond salvation by now. _

“Pete can clearly hear me! Why not just tell him the truth?”

“Tony, imagine if you had to tell someone who’s still grieving that their person was a ghost. Peter would hate me.”

“Pete’s not a hateful kid.”

“Well, he’s certainly changed in the past month, hasn’t he?”

“What? No. He’s always been like that. Stubborn and reckless and shit.”

Stephen frowns at him.

“Uh-huh. Are you sure?”

“Uh, duh. Whatever, that’s not the point. The point is, what’s the harm in telling him I’m around? Haunting him and school and stuff? Give the kid a scare, at least.”

“It’s far too early for Halloween, Tony.”

“Come  _ on, _ Stephen.”

“ _ Tony _ ,” Stephen sighs, putting his fork down. “Do you really want to do this to him?”

“Do what to him? Telling him I’m a ghost isn’t going to hurt him. He’s tougher than that.”

“No, but  _ losing  _ you again might. Remember, Tony. You can’t stay in this world too long. I’m doing what I can, but the longer you stay on earth, the higher the chance of you losing your mind and turning into a poltergeist. You’re gonna have to move on at some point.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. But at least let me—”

“ _ Tony. _ Peter’s just a kid. He’s beating himself up over losing you. Do you really think the knowledge of your presence is going to help him? He’s  _ hurting. _ ” Stephen pauses before saying the next sentence with slow, careful cruelty.

“You  _ have  _ to leave him, Tony.”

Tony grits his teeth before turning away.

_ I know. Doesn’t make it any easier. _

* * *

 

Tony is reading by his favorite window again. Stephen had abruptly left after he “felt a disturbance in the dimensions”, citing an emergency as he left Tony in the Sanctum with explicit instructions to not move. The book Tony’s currently tackling is about the mystical portals that sorcerers use. It’s interesting. Tony finds himself slowing down his usual reading speed in an attempt to really understand the book’s contents instead of breezing past the words. Tony once asked Stephen in their time together at the library how he had learned everything in such a short amount of time. Stephen had merely tapped his head.

_ “Photographic memory.”  _

Tony calls bullshit.

He wishes Wong was around to pry the real truth out of.

Tony ignores the pang of sadness in his heart as he flips the page, then pauses as he realizes he can’t understand the contents of the first paragraph. He sighs, closing the book and laying it on the window seat next to him. If his mind isn’t focused, he might as well leave the readings for some other time.

The room shakes.

Tony tenses as the shaking stops as suddenly as it started. Everything is still once again. Tony looks around the small study room cautiously, wondering if he imagined it. His eyes focus on the glass phoenix positioned on one of the bookshelves. It had moved from its previously secure position on the wooden shelf to the near edge, in danger of toppling over.

There’s another, brief shake.

The glass phoenix falls and shatters with the crash.

Tony leaps off his window seat and dashes out the door. The shaking starts again, but this time it doesn’t stop. As Tony makes his way toward the stairs, things are falling left and right. A clock hanging on a wall falls and passes through Tony’s ghost form. As Tony looks around wildly for the Sanctum’s attacker, he notes the intricate golden mandalas of complicated spells flickering into existence and disappearing into oblivion on the walls, ceilings, and air.

Tony is on the third floor when the familiar crystalized fragments of a portal to the Mirror Dimension suddenly break out in mid-air. He freezes when he sees a familiar figure wrapped in a red cloak tumble out disgracefully into the open air and fall two floors to the ground landing.

“Stephen?!” Tony hisses. He’s about to jump over the railings and drop three floors to reach the sorcerer when the portal to the Mirror Dimension makes a strange grinding noise and collapses into itself. His memory unwittingly thinks back to a fateful battle on a red planet, where a golden gauntlet of Infinity Stones smashed through a sorcerer’s tricks and sent a black hole toward the red cloaked figure.

Stephen is making strange gestures with his hands on the ground floor. As the sorcerer thrusts his magic at the growing singularity, Tony accurately predicts the transformation into butterflies.

Only this time, they’re red.

The black hole disappears, but the shaking only grows stronger. Tony sprints into action as he leaps over the railing of the third floor and drops the few stories toward Stephen. Around him, the Sanctum is changing. The floors are morphing, slithering around the walls. The stairs are coming alive, cutting off access between floors. Doors are disappearing through the wood, and golden mandalas are etching themselves into the woodwork.

Tony lands painlessly. He mentally praises the benefits of a ghostly form as he rushes over to Stephen, who’s slumped over on the floor breathing heavily. There are spots of blood thrown all over the floor.

“Hey! Stephen! Yoo-hoo, your ghostly roomie is here,” Tony quips as he slides into place beside the sorcerer. He firmly pushes Stephen into a sitting position, mentally taking notes on the sorcerer’s injuries.  _ Possible concussion, two stab wounds in the abdomen, one stab wound in the chest. _ “Wanna tell me why the Sanctum is going all  _ Monster House _ on us?”

“Mephisto,” Stephen grunts as he tries to stumble to his feet. Tony helps steady him. “He’s attacking, trying to gain entrance into our realm. The Sanctum is undergoing safety procedures to try and contain him into this pocket of existence only.”

“Wait, he’s coming?” Tony hisses, looking around with wide eyes.

“Does it look like I fought him off successfully?” Stephen snaps, pulling away from the ghost. Before Tony could say anything, Stephen turns and points at him. “Go hide somewhere. A coat closet or something. The Sanctum won’t let you out with Mephisto here, and I can’t risk you turning into a poltergeist while I’m trying to battle the ruler of Hell.”

“Wait, I thought the Devil was supposed to be Lucifer—”

“Just  _ go!” _

An otherworldly growl shakes the inner walls of the Sanctum. Tony feels the sound reverb through his own ghostly form. Stephen takes advantage of his stunned reaction and flicks his hand at him. Tony yelps as the magic bodily throws his body into an empty display case embedded in the wall. The force of the throw slams the display’s cover shut once he lands on his ass. Tony pushes at the glass. It doesn’t budge.

“At least call the Avengers!” Tony tries to yell, but his voice only bounces around inside his glass prison. The noises of the chaos outside are strangely muted behind glass. Tony watches with growing astonishment as another portal slowly forms in the air above Stephen. This one is made of a strange, bubbly smoke of black and red, dripping down to the ground as it grows in size. 

A red, muscular leg steps through the portal.

Tony stops soundlessly squirming behind the glass as he watches the demon Stephen called Mephisto step into their reality. He’s a huge, hunking humanoid demon, with beefy limbs and a solid chest. Tony swears the demon possesses more abs than anatomically possible. Mephisto’s gravity defying locks of hair mirror the movements of his blood red cape flapping soundlessly behind him.

_ Point Break, you’ve got competition. And Stephen, what is with your world’s obsession with capes? _

Mephisto floats to the ground in front of Stephen, who’s ready with his shield mandala and magic whip. The demon hums leisurely, hands laced behind his back, looking around the Sanctum in interest as the last of the moving parts fall into place.

“So  _ this _ is what the inside of your Sanctum is like, Doctor Strange,” Mephisto says. His voice is rich and deep, the promise of danger present in his every word. “I must say, I was expecting a much warmer welcome from the sorcerers of your world.”

“You will be receiving a warm welcome,” Stephen quips back. He flicks his magic whip, wrapping it around the demon in an instant. Mephisto doesn’t move, merely glancing down at the magic whip with bemusement. “From  _ me.” _

“I hear you’re the Sorcerer Supreme?”

“Fairly new at the job, but yes, I am currently the acting Sorcerer Supreme.”

“Ah. That explains why you’re so weak.”

Mephisto grabs the whip with one strong hand and tugs on the rope. Stephen flies through the air with a yelp. Mephisto sneaks in a bone-crunching kick to Stephen’s stomach, sending the sorcerer flying into the upper levels of the Sanctum and thus out of sight. Tony flinches at Stephen’s grunt of pain, thinking of the stab wounds near the sorcerer’s stomach. Mephisto laughs freely, tugging a bloodied cutlass sword from his belt. He crouches, then jumps a soaring thirty feet out of sight. Tony can’t stop the awe from the display.

_ Jesus Christ, that guy’s like a fucking grasshopper! _

The battle continues out of Tony’s view, but he doesn’t need to see it to know how it’s going. There are more grunts of pain coming from Stephen than Mephisto. And the splotches of blood that keep dropping down to the Sanctum’s first floor usually don’t smoke like some of the other patches. Tony can’t help flinching whenever an unearthly growl shakes the entire Sanctum, rattling his display case with ease.

Tony starts pounding on the glass, yelling helplessly despite knowing Stephen can’t hear him.

“Stephen, you damn bastard! Call the fucking Avengers!”

Stephen suddenly comes flying toward him. Tony jumps as the sorcerer crashes against the glass, sending webs of cracks weaving through the glass. He watches as Stephen falls lifelessly to the ground—

—and doesn’t get up.

“Stephen!  _ Stephen! _ ”

Mephisto floats down to the ground where the grand stairs used to be. Tony frantically pounds at the glass. It starts to give way a bit.

“Cloak! Hey, Cloakie!” The red cloak that Stephen always has around his shoulders is scarily still. “Cloakie! God, what the fuck does Stephen call you? Hey! You gotta get him out of here! Wake up! Are you out, too?! How can a magic curtain get knocked out?!”

Mephisto stalks toward Stephen’s unmoving form. Tony bangs on the glass with renewed fervor. The spider webs across the glass slowly spread, inching towards the edges of the case’s door.

“Well, well, well. Once I broke through your magical defenses, there seems to be nothing else left to worry about in this dimension,” Mephisto leers. Tony hisses through his teeth as he wills his ghostly body to put more force behind the blows. “But in any case, it’s best to be safe than sorry.”

Mephisto raises his cutlass. It’s dyed with Stephen’s blood.

“It’s a shame you won’t be able to say your goodbyes, Doctor Strange.”

As the cutlass swings downward, Tony instinctively taps the nanotech housing unit on his chest. A familiar cold darkness feeds on his panic and overtakes his limbs as his blackened arms finally hold the strength to burst through the glass case and grab the bloodied cutlass just before it slices through Stephen’s neck.

Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold.

_ Control it, control it, control it, control it—! _

Mephisto cocks his head at him curiously as Tony struggles to retain his state of mind. A simple frown makes its way onto the demon’s face.

“Now this...is interesting,” Mephisto drawls languidly. He pries away his cutlass from Tony’s tight grip carelessly. Tony falls to his knees before the demon, eyes squinting as he feels the tendrils of darkness encroaching upon his mind, trying to make him submit with pain comparable to frostbite. Mephisto leans on his cutlass with amusement as he watches Tony’s struggle with the inky blackness trailing up his face.

“A ghost? What a rare phenomenon,” Mephisto comments, smiling as Tony hisses and whimpers below him. “Almost a month old as well. Fascinating. Most don’t last past a few days. And not just any ghost, either. You’re Tony Stark, aren’t you?”

Tony allows that little revelation to help regain some clarity in his head.

“For fuck’s sake. You know my name, too?” Tony grunts, clenching his fists. The darkness coating his fingers squelches. Mephisto smiles mysteriously.

“Of course I’d know your name. You tore a hole in the multiverse when you figured out time travel.”

Tony freezes.

“What?”

Mephisto laughs.

“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t think the ghosts of the past were the only consequence of time travel,” Mephisto sneers. Tony feels a sensation similar to ice cold water poured over him. The darkness crawling over his body picks up speed, meeting no resistance. “You created alternate timelines in the past that weren’t supposed to be there. Parallel universes that weren’t supposed to exist. The addition of new timelines to the multiverse, ones that it wasn’t prepared for...let's just say it stretched it a little. Tore a few little tears.”

Mephisto’s leer grew to satanical proportions.

“But it was more than enough to alert a number of powers. Powers like  _ me. _ ”

“Tony!”

A familiar shock courses through Tony. Tony is too stunned to fight the rune as the darkness quickly scrambles back into the housing unit. He falls unconscious yet again, falling to the floor and revealing Stephen behind him with his palm outstretched and rune’s glow fading away.

Stephen gets up on unsteady feet. Mephisto grins and raises his cutlass again. The sorcerer raises a finger. Mephisto pauses.

“I’m not the only sorcerer protecting this dimension, you know,” Stephen hints. Mephisto frowns.

The doors embedded in the transformed Sanctum open. Millions of golden whips fly through, wrapping around the demon. Mephisto roars as he struggles amongst the magical ropes holding him captive, spotting the hundred or so sorcerers standing in the doorways.

“You damned sorcerer—!”

Stephen forms the magical sigil and mutters the spell to send Mephisto back to his dimension. Mephisto gives an ear splitting roar that shakes the Sanctum down to its very bones. As the demon’s red body glows with light, Mephisto sneers at the Sorcerer Supreme.

“Fine. You may have prevented my reign over this dimension  _ this  _ time,” Mephisto growls with an eerie smirk. Stephen narrows his eyes dangerously at the demon as the light overtakes him. “But I leave your dimension and return to mine with some juicy, juicy knowledge of your little world. Or rather...knowledge of the remnants of your world’s savior.”

Mephisto disappears with a blast of light.

* * *

 

“You know, I’m starting to see a pattern here with you passing out constantly.”

When Tony wakes up, he is greeted by the sardonic voice of the Sorcerer Supreme. Tony rolls his eyes as he tilts his head to the sorcerer sitting by his bedside. Stephen is fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

“‘Hi! I’m fine, thanks for worrying’,” Tony snarks sarcastically as he sits up in bed. He’s feeling a bit dizzy, but otherwise the recent turn to the forces of evil didn’t impact him as much as it did when Wong attacked him. Perhaps it was because he fell to the darkness willingly, and was able to control it for a few seconds? Tony waves his arm languidly. “‘You don’t need to thank me for saving your ass. It’s the least I could do for free housing’.”

“You mean risking my soul falling into the clutches of a poltergeist?”

Tony huffs out an irritated breath.

“Are we really going to do this again?” Tony laments, thinking back to their argument on the donut ship. The memory of Titan sends frustration through him. “What did you want me to do?” Tony snaps, letting the shield of humor fall away and glaring at the sorcerer. “He was about to slice your head off. Right in front of me. The least I could do is take a chance at stopping him.”

Stephen lets out a sigh as he leans back in his chair. The sorcerer runs a trembling hand through his hair. 

“Thank you—”

“Oh my god, you’re not that much of a dick after all.”

“—but  _ don’t _ do that again. It’s too risky, Tony. For both of us.”

Tony just stares at Stephen. Stephen reads the look in his eyes and groans.

“You’re too damn heroic for your own good. Even after death,” Stephen mutters. Tony turns his gaze away with a bitter smile.

“And you wouldn’t be?”

Stephen snorts. The two sit in silence for a while.

“You could’ve ran.”

“I was stuck in a display case you locked me in, idiot.”

“Then run the next time it happens.”

“No.”

“Tony.”

“Stephen.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? Because we’re two peas in a pod?”

“No, we’re not.”

“Really? You’re denying our resemblance? We’re both witty, sarcastic, intelligent—me more so than you—and we can both rock a goatee. Awesome Facial Hair Bros, baby!”

“Do  _ not _ bestow such a pathetic moniker onto—!”

A letter slides under the bedroom door, stopping their conversation. Tony watches in disgust as Stephen walks over to retrieve it.

“Why don’t they just  _ knock _ on the door?” Tony asks cluelessly. Stephen ignores him, unfolding the parchment and scanning its contents. He frowns.

“Well, shit.”

“Oh? Forgot to pay your water bill?”

“No. The other Masters of the Mystic Arts are planning to visit to help me reassess the damage Mephisto has done to the New York Sanctum. And to help determine how he got through our seals in order to strengthen them.”

Tony remembers Stephen’s injuries and glances over the other’s body. He notes how the sorcerer is favoring his left side. The alarming pool of blood is dried up on his dark blue robes.

“How are your injuries?”

“Not fatal, as you can see.”

“There’s no magical healing spell to help you out with that?”

“We have limits, Tony. Magic follows its own set of natural laws. Kamar-Taj’s healers did the best they could without causing serious injuries to themselves.”

Tony narrows his eyes at Stephen.

“You’re not supposed to be walking.”

“ _ I’m _ the medical doctor between the two of us, Stark. Don’t question my choices.”

“For fuck’s sake. You’re just as stubborn as I am.”

“No, I’m much more experienced in the field of medicine. As I recall, you’ve engaged in several unsafe procedures that would have been much more refined had they been in the hands of a medical professional.”

“Like?”

“Your biosensors.”

“It’s just injecting things into my body.”

“Oh great, we have an idiot in our hands.”

“If the only problem you have with my work ethic revolves around sanitation, don’t even get into it.”

“You don’t know exactly  _ how _ many germs—”

“Okay, we’re getting off track. So your bosses are coming over—”

“Coworkers. I’m a Master of the Mystic Arts as well.”

“Masterful handling of the demon, then.”

Stephen gives Tony a scathing glare. Tony gets the feeling he overstepped his boundaries.

“Sorry. So your coworkers are coming over to help you out. Why is that a problem?”

Stephen sighs, folding the letter and tucking it back into its envelope.

“I’m not necessarily...popular with some sorcerers,” Stephen hints. Tony whistles.

“Oh.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then don’t let them inside.”

“I know you’re used to getting your way with bureaucracies, no matter how eccentric your ways are. But that’s not how things work around here.”

“Well, it’s just unpleasant company for a few days, right? Plus, you’ve got a ghost buddy on your side here. One word, and I’ll make their stay a living hell. Maybe I’ll learn to make vases fly around a room like in the movies.”

Stephen blanches.

“Ah, crap, I forgot about you.”

Tony rolls his eyes at him.

“Way to make a guy feel appreciated here.”

“No, that’s not—shoot. One of the Masters hates the fact that I’m keeping you around. He’s hell-bent on your exorcism.”

Tony fights the instinctual panic trying to rise in his chest.

“This...This guy is more powerful than Wong, right?”

Stephen’s expression darkens at the mention of the librarian.

“Indeed. Unlike Wong, he can succeed at vanquishing your spirit in an instant. And he is also not above going behind my back to get the job done.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, his fear falling away to make way for another emotion. Stephen sneaks a glance at him then sighs at his expression.

“Stop feeling guilty, Tony,” Stephen says, in a gentler tone. Tony merely blinks at him.

“I haven’t seen Wong come around in forever,” he argues. Stephen turns away.

“I needed space. Besides, he’ll definitely be coming around later to help prepare the Sanctum for the other Masters’ arrivals. Which is another reason why you should be….hidden away.”

Tony’s gaze drops to the floor. It’s quiet in the room for a moment. Stephen breaks it when he turns around to fix Tony with a deadpan stare.

“Look, I’m not giving you any more words of comfort. That is entirely out of my jurisdiction,” Stephen states, a trace of irritation in his tone. Tony rolls his eyes at him and glares.

“I wasn’t  _ looking _ for any. Hello? Emotionally stunted twin?”

“Good. Glad we got that settled. So I’m going to have to ask you to leave the Sanctum for a while.”

Tony balks.

“What? Why?”

“I told you, that Master is not above going behind my back,” Stephen explains, gesturing to the corner at something. The Cloak flies forward, startling Tony to his feet. He never noticed it was there. The sorcerer walks out the door, leaving Tony to scramble after him. “You’re not safe at the Sanctum when they arrive. If you’re outside, he won’t be able to track you down. Can you stay with the Parkers for the meantime?”

“Uh, what happened to making sure I wasn’t a negative influence on the kid?”

“Judging from yesterday’s events at the teleconference, I can’t say for certain that you are the sole cause behind your ward’s uncharacteristic behavior. It seems like there’s also something personal at play.”

Somehow, the old words of Peter’s friend suddenly float through Tony’s mind.

_ “I don’t think Aunt May brought it up because it’s been 5 years since she saw you.” _

Tony rushes forward to catch up with Stephen.

“Wait, I can’t believe I never thought to ask you. Exactly how weird is Peter acting?”

Stephen looks at him like he’s crazy.

“What do you mean, ‘how weird’? I wasn’t aware that there was a scale.”

“Judging on your memories of him when you first met 5 years ago on the Q-ship,” Tony presses. “How weird? What’s different about him?”

Stephen just gives him a weird look.

“He’s not energetic? Hasn’t been talking nonstop? Isn’t excited over the simplest of things anymore? Most of all, he isn’t stupid? All of that is uncharacteristic of him.”

Tony makes a face.

“I would appreciate it if you’d at least  _ try  _ not to insult my kid.”

“Well, I’m serious. He’s not acting like a child anymore.”

Tony stays silent. Stephen, sensing that Tony was on the verge of a realization, continues cautiously.

“When we first met on the Q-ship, Peter suggested a strategy from a  _ movie  _ to save me. And he kept making those stupid jokes that only his generation could understand. There were multitudes of references to the Star Wars franchise. And he was awkward. Not in the shy sense, but in the overexcited sense. He tried to introduce himself to the Cloak, of all things. Plus, he had that whole gimmick with superhero names, not to mention how excited he was when you made him an Avenger on the spot. Frankly, I find it surprising that he isn’t more excited about the team nowadays. But perhaps that’s just his idealistic view of his heroes being crushed?”

Tony just looks at Stephen. Stephen frowns at Tony.

“...You didn’t notice how different he is?” Stephen deduces. When Tony doesn’t answer, Stephen continues probing in confusion. “Tony, when was the last time you saw Peter really laugh or make a joke? Or heard one of his stupid pop culture references?”

Tony’s breath hitches. Stephen tilts his head questioningly at him, feeling Tony’s horror and despair through the magic bond.

“I….I honestly thought you already knew,” Stephen apologizes, bringing them to a stop in the hallway a few meters away from the grand stairs. “Peter’s not okay, Tony. He’s been...colder. More calculating. It’s been so obvious. How did you not—?”

“I forgot,” Tony whispers. Stephen pauses, waiting for him to continue. “I forgot he’s just a kid. I—It’s been 5 years. I forgot how he used to be like.” Tony sucks in a sharp breath as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Shit. I’m so stupid. Even a wizard allergic to emotions saw the change.”

Stephen’s face twists with hurt.

“Hey—”

“Sorry. Sorry, shit.” Tony starts pacing the hallway. “He used to be like a puppy. Like—Like a chihuahua. Why haven’t I seen this?”

“I thought you already knew Peter was grieving…?”

“Yes, but his  _ behavior _ . I didn’t realize it was different to this magnitude. It’s—He’s not  _ Peter. _ ” Tony thinks back to the funeral, to his worried thoughts about Peter as he sat next to him. “I only worried about him having support as Spider-Man after I’m gone. I didn’t stop to think about  _ Peter _ .” Tony lets out a strange snarling sound aimed at himself. “God, I’m such an  _ asshole. _ I didn’t think about how he’s just a  _ kid. _ ”

Stephen looks like he doesn’t know how to respond. Tony allows himself to break away from his current bout of self-hatred to smirk wryly at the sorcerer.

“Man, I’m glad you don’t care enough to offer any comfort,” he snickers, heart still brewing with feelings of failure. Stephen’s face pinches and quickly falls into a closed off expression. Tony realizes he crossed the line. 

“No, no, I truly mean that!” Tony says hastily, waving his arms around. Stephen only narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Look, we’re two peas in a pod. I—The last thing I want to hear is reassurances. So in a way, I’m grateful for your silence.”

Tony balks for a second at the slip of heartfelt honesty he accidentally let out but doesn’t backtrack. Stephen blinks at him, considering, before shaking his head and continuing down the hallway towards the stairs. Tony catches a glimpse of a smile.

“Glad to know we were on the same page then,” Stephen throws over his shoulder, an amused note to his tone. Tony laughs, a little strained as he follows the sorcerer down to the ground floor. His heart is still heavy with the thought of failure, burdened by Tony’s self-hatred. Stephen leads them to the parlor off to the side, instead of the front door like Tony was thinking. The ghost follows cluelessly as Stephen gracefully takes a seat in one of the armchairs in front of a small, eternally burning fireplace. The sorcerer gestures at the seat across from him.

“Take a seat, Tony.”

“What are we doing? I thought you were kicking me out?” Tony asks, but complies anyway. Stephen leans forward and snatches a strange metal ball contraption made of dozens of entangled rings. He sits back and starts fiddling with it. It seems like a puzzle.

“I was. Well, I still am. But there’s time, and I can always portal you over to the Parker’s.”

“So what do you intend on doing right now?”

“Talk,” Stephen says simply, eyes trained on the complicated puzzle ball in his hands. The silence of the parlor is often interrupted by the constant  _ shhnk! _ of the rings sliding against one another by Stephen’s fiddling. “Remember, I can feel everything you’re feeling. And right now, you feel like shit. I’m not leaving you to stew in negativity at the Parker residence. Around Peter, no less. And especially after you just transformed into a poltergeist, no matter how normal you may seem now. Peter might be your Obsession, and he’s currently the subject of your thoughts. If I leave you to it now, that’s just asking to turn you into a poltergeist again.”

“Oh,  _ fuck _ .” Tony slumps back into the cushions, sighing. The reminder of his at-risk state of being doesn’t help soothe Tony’s feelings. Stephen’s eyes flicker to Tony before returning to the ball of rings.

“That was probably insensitive of me to say—”

“—but it needed to be said,” Tony finishes for him, firmly. Stephen pauses before nodding.

“Yeah. I’m glad you understand.”

“Like I said, two peas in a pod.”

There’s silence for a while. Tony covers his eyes with his arm over his face whilst Stephen tinkers with the metal puzzle ball.

_ Shhnk. Shhnk. Shhnk. _

“You should probably talk about it,” Stephen ventures, a trace of hesitance in his tone. But it’s shadowed by the firmness in his voice. “You can’t keep it holed up anymore.”

Tony grumbles uncertainly as he plays with the suggestion.

“Talk to  _ you?” _

“Yes, I know how strange it is for me to suggest it,” Stephen replies, rolling his eyes but keeping his tone light. “But I’m willing to listen and understand, to try and be less of an asshole, and I won’t give you false assurances.”

“That’s rather serious of you, doctor.”

“Well, this can be seen as part of my duty. And I take my responsibilities seriously. Though….” Stephen hesitates for a second before continuing his thought much more quietly. “I’m not just offering out of an obligation to my work.”

Tony smiles to himself. He doesn’t need Stephen to elaborate to know what he means. And he doesn’t need to pull his arm away from his eyes to know Stephen is resolutely not looking in his direction anymore.

“That’s sweet of you,” Tony teases, but there’s no bite to his tone. It’s honest.

“Indeed. So why are you beating yourself up over this?”

Tony lets his arm fall away from his face and stares up at the ceiling. He observes the pattern of the Sanctum above him. A slow breath pushes through his lips as he tries to get his thoughts into order.

“....I wasn’t really the best mentor for the kid,” Tony says quietly. Stephen says nothing, but stops fiddling with the ball for a bit. Neither of them look at each other. “I mean, I taught him everything I knew whenever I could. I still had more to teach him—”

Tony shakes his head. The housing unit on his chest suddenly grows a bit colder. He redirects his train of thought firmly.

_ Don’t think of what I had left to do. What do I regret about Peter himself? _

“I regret not letting our relationship grow closer,” Tony says slowly, treading through his feelings and thoughts carefully. A calm sadness spreads slowly through him, quiet and harmless. He takes a small breath. “I did my best with all the other stuff. I constantly tested his strategies. Let him call some plays on the field. Taught him how to maintain the suit. Brought him over to the Compound as often as I could to get him familiar with FRIDAY and the labs. Had a little crash course winter camp to teach him everything I knew about biology, chemistry, and physics. Polished his mechanical knowledge. Forced him to take on engineering challenges. Y’know, the kid gradually figured out how to reverse engineer my older Iron Man suits. And we worked together on developing our nanobot technology.”

“Sounds like a smart kid.”

“Yeah. He really is.”

A smile spreads on his face at the memories. Tony lets a pause drag on, thinking. Memories flit through his head, thoughtfulness surrounding them. Gradually, he gathers his thoughts before speaking again.

“I tried my best for everything else,” Tony says quietly. He brings his gaze down to the fireplace, watching the small flames dance on the wood. “But as for our relationship? I didn’t put my full effort behind it. Behind cultivating it.” Tony presses his lips together, eyes dulling.

“I wish I tried harder with our personal relationship with each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just...being there. Not as a teacher, but as….I dunno. A friend?” Tony makes a face at the word. “That’s way too casual for what we were. Mentor? Too professional. I was more like a….”

Tony hesitates. After a brief battle with himself, he finally puts the thought that had been bouncing in his head for 6 years into words.

“....like a father figure,” Tony says decidedly. He closes his eyes, feeling the failure and the regret and the guilt wash over him again at the words. “But I wasn’t doing my best as one.”

Stephen stays quiet, not offering reassurances. Tony smiles.

“I loved talking to Pete,” he continues. “But I hated it when the conversation would get too honest. I was jumpy whenever Pete probed me. Eventually, Peter learned to avoid pressing me when it came to my feelings.” A brief flash of regret crosses Tony’s face. “I hate that he learned to avoid that. The kid’s such a pleaser. He could’ve pushed me more. Been a bit more selfish. But he didn’t. Because….ugh, because he  _ cared _ . That fucking kid.”

“Uh-huh….” The uncertainty in Stephen’s tone was poorly disguised. Tony chuckles. He thinks about how to help the sorcerer understand.

“One day, Pete asked about my dad. My answers were stilted and awkward. It was obvious that I hated talking about it. So the kid dropped it and never brought it up again.”

“That’s….considerate of him.”

“Occasionally, Pete worked with Pep for Stark Industries. Stupid things like logistics, project management, and a little product development. All that jazz, to keep up the internship facade. He liked asking about how I got to know her and how we got to where we were as for our relationship. That was the kicker. The kid figured out I don’t like being vulnerable when I talk. So after that, he made sure our conversations never had to reach that point.”

Tony pinches his brows as a particular memory surfaced in his mind.

“Pepper liked talking about the wedding plans to Pete. He could be so enthusiastic about everything. And his excitement spread like wildfire to others, and they’d open up to him like nothing. One day, she let it slip that I was struggling to ask him to be one of my groomsmen.  _ Pepper _ did. After pulling everything out of her, Pete took matters into his own hands and asked me instead. He did this whole act, begging me and whatever. It was so cute.”

“He sounds like a good kid.”

“He is. And I should’ve told him that.” Tony presses his lips together. “He put in all that effort to making sure I was comfortable around him. And instead of doing the same, I just kept my distance. I wish I hadn’t done that.” Tony closes his eyes.

“I wish I returned the favor.”

* * *

 

After Tony stepped through the portal into Peter’s room, Stephen closes the entry point. He takes a step back, staring at the floor where Tony had once stood a moment beforehand. The sorcerer says nothing, merely standing still in the parlor while the fire crackles in the background, lost in his silent thoughts.

The familiar sound of sparks emerges from outside the parlor room, right at the foot of the grand stairs. Stephen didn’t move even as footsteps walk over to his position. Wong’s shadow suddenly cast itself across the floor as the librarian stepped into the open entryway to the parlor, stopping in its tracks at the sight of the Sorcerer Supreme.

Wong is wearing a pinched expression on his face. Hesitantly, he calls out to the other.

“....Stephen?”

Stephen closes his eyes.

“I hate ghosts.”

Wong blinks in surprise, rearing his head back slightly. Tipping his head to the side in confusion, Wong decides to risk a few more steps into the room, looking around the parlor in search of the resident spiritual being.

“Where’s Tony…?”

“Gone.”

“Stephen, I wasn’t going to—”

“It wasn’t because of you. Or  _ just _ because of you. Master Burkens will be visiting along with the others.”

“Ah….”

Wong makes it to Stephen’s side, stopping at a warning flutter from the Cloak. He peers at Stephen’s closed expression and takes a moment to choose his next words.

“....I thought you liked Tony?”

“I do. I just….hate ghosts in general.”

Wong frowns a little.

“Stephen, you’ll need to explain a bit more for me to understand,” Wong tells him. They both know that there’s more meaning behind that sentence. Stephen slowly opens his eyes, training them on the fire across from them. It crackles a little louder.

“Before I came to Kamar-Taj, I was a neurosurgeon,” Stephen said simply. Wong clasped his hands together and waited. “Before I was a neurosurgeon, I was many other things in the medical industry. Medical student, researcher, nurse, general practice, even an assistant to a pediatrician at one point.

“I started on the path to medicine because I liked taking care of my little sister,” Stephen continues. “Donna was one fierce tomboy. She wasn’t afraid to throw a few punches if it came to reminding the other boys in the neighborhood of their place. So she often came home with cuts and bruises. Sometimes broken bones. Eventually, I learned how to fix them up myself and became her unofficial personal doctor.

“But then she died. Because of a cramp. Something...something so unwittingly simple. She was swimming at a house party, and no one realized she hadn’t come up for air for a long time. Not even I. It was only when her boyfriend screamed that we realized.”

Stephen blinks once, a little harshly. Wong listens, watching Stephen’s expression for the minute twitches he had learned to interpret over the course of their partnership. Stephen lets out a little draw of breath.

“I still went into medicine. To honor her. Put my talents to use for others. I grew arrogant of my abilities, yes. Thought that I was the ultimate secret weapon behind the force that saved lives. But despite my inflated head, I was still a doctor dedicated to saving lives at heart. And when a life couldn’t be saved, it hurt. Badly.”

Wong purses his lips.

“I thought you had a perfect record?”

“I did. Anyone who came under my care in the operating room was saved. But only if they made it into the operating room. Those who didn’t….they were the ones I couldn’t save.”

Stephen’s face pinches.

“Those people don’t appear on personal records.”

Wong clenches his hands tighter with worry.

“Occasionally, a case would come across my desk that I knew could never be saved. I had to turn them down, tell them it was impossible to save them. A son. Daughter. Sister. Brother. Aunt. Uncle. Mother. Father. Sometimes, those kinds of cases made it into Metro-General. And telling them was worse, because I had to tell them to their face.

“There was a child from London,” Stephen says. “She had Donna’s eyes. Her parents had flown her all over the world, desperate to save her from a Stage 4 brain cancer. They eventually came to me, begging. They said I was their last hope, that my hands were their last option.”

Stephen closes his eyes, lost in the torment of memories.

“The second I looked at the scans, I looked right into the little girl’s eyes and told her she had to enjoy the last two weeks of her life.”

Wong flinches.

“That’s...harsh.”

“I didn’t tell her like that. Even I’m not that cruel. I had the parents step out of the room for a second so I could talk to her alone. They were too stubborn, clinging to every last thread of hope. They wouldn’t give up no matter what I told them. I had to tell  _ her,  _ tell the little girl she had to give up, that there was no longer any hope of saving her, and that she should enjoy life as much as she could in her last few days. And I made sure she could be as comfortable as possible, linked her to the best pharmacist I knew for painkillers. But ultimately, she was doomed in two weeks.”

Stephen ignores the tenseness in Wong’s body. He sighs.

“I had to tell a little girl to give up on life,” he grits out meaningfully. “As a medical student, I thought I would be saving people. I didn’t realize being a doctor also meant shouldering the responsibility to let people go.”

“You didn’t let her go.”

“No. But I told her to give up on a future.” Stephen hisses a little through his teeth. “And there were others. The Battle of New York, other times of mass casualties when I worked overseas. All practitioners of medicine are trained in something called the triage situation. When we have too many patients and not enough people or resources to go around, we have to tag them according to whether or not they could—or  _ should— _ be saved.”

Stephen’s hands clench into fists, pushing himself to continue.

“I worked as a volunteer medic for a humanitarian organization for a while. At the time, Stark Industries was still making the world’s best weapons of war, and Obadiah Stane was still linking terrorists to them. We came across the aftermath of a Ten Rings attack on a large town in the Middle East. It was the desert, and the town was surrounded by miles and miles of sand. The nearest modern hospitals were days away, and the town didn’t have the technology to call for their help. Their medical facilities only amounted to one mosque’s public infirmary, with traditional methods of medicine. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

Stephen lets out a heavy sigh. He continues speaking, but his eyes have dulled to a facade of apathy.

“Stark weapons were used. And they were deadly. Really, really deadly. The terrorists also knew how to plan it to capitalize on the town’s pain. They made it so the deaths wouldn’t be instant.”

Stephen’s eyes clench tight. The Cloak flutters a little on his shoulders in reassurance.

“We…...we ran out of black tags.”

Wong didn’t need to be told what a black tag meant. He turned away from Stephen, horror swirling in his eyes as he blinked rapidly at the brightly burning fireplace.

“Do you blame Tony?”

“No. He didn’t know. And he was just a pawn. His time in Afghanistan proved that point. But for a while, I hated him.”

Stephen blinks, bringing them back on track.

“Regardless, as a doctor, despite a perfect record in the operation room, there were people I couldn’t save or had to give up on in my career.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To help you understand. Tony helped me realize that sometimes, to help others understand you, you need to open up and  _ talk. _ ” Stephen shakes his head a little, stepping toward the armchair he had just vacated moments before. Wong takes his seat, cold and seemingly unused prior to his arrival. Stephen’s face pinches a little but he continues on.

“When Kaecilius attacked all those years ago, I saw a man die right in front of me. I was no stranger to death. But that time….it wasn’t someone passing away because of medical complications anymore. It was just a fight. A space-time blade. I saw  _ murder _ for the first time.

“Minutes after that, I killed a man with my own hands. Hands I had dedicated to saving lives. I willingly brought harm upon someone for the first time.”

“I thought you understood—”

“I do. But do you truly understand the weight of life, Wong, when all you sorcerers have done is fight to protect a reality from enemies at all costs? They’re just  _ enemies  _ to you, Wong. But I grew up saving lives, regardless of who was on my table. I grew up seeing people who each had their own individual stories, their own intricate lives, come to an end. I grew up seeing  _ people _ die in front of me each and every day. And each time, I felt like a failure because I couldn’t save them.”

Wong was quiet. Stephen continued, face stony and resigned.

“And then one day, I contributed to those deaths I’ve seen and couldn’t save, but this time with my own hands. I  _ murdered _ . Wong, I understand why we do what we do. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling the guilt and failure when we lose lives. Especially now that I’m consciously  _ taking _ them.”

Stephen glances at Wong, observing.

“Right before you came in, I had a talk with Tony about Peter. He discovered that the 5 years after the Snap had eroded at his memories of his ward, and he didn’t notice obvious, telling signs of Peter’s inner turmoil. 

“The last thing I remember about us was me going to the deli and complaining about buying you a sandwich because all you had were rupees on your person. The last big villain I fought was Dormammu and Kaecilius, just 2 years prior. To me, I still feel like an out of place doctor turned sorcerer.”

Wong bows his head.

“You haven’t grown accustomed to taking lives yet,” Wong realizes. Stephen nods.

“I haven’t, Wong. And probably never will. It’s only been 2 years. I’ve only killed one man. And I’m still holding my Hippocratic Oath as close to my heart as possible, regardless of how twisted it’s become.” Stephen tips his head towards the ceiling, leaning back in his chair as another, fresher memory surfaces. “Wong, you know I looked through future timelines to bring us to this present future.”

“Of course I do.”

“Has it occurred to you that in doing so, I knew who would have to be sacrificed?”

Realization clicks onto Wong’s face. Stephen holds up a hand when Wong opens his mouth.

“When I found that 1 in 14 million chance, I knew that Tony had to be sacrificed to ensuring the universe’s safety. But do you know what it felt like to me, to direct us onto this timeline? I felt like I was consciously sending Tony Stark to his death in exchange for the rest of the universe. I felt like I was murdering  _ him _ to save others.”

Stephen closes his eyes.

“It still feels like  _ murder. _ ”

The inkling darkness that Tony’s poltergeist form had left beside his heart stirs slightly. Stephen ignores it, knowing it wouldn’t be able to feed off of his regret when it surrounded a conscious and certain decision on his part. Unlike Tony, whose regrets revolved around a defensive mechanism developed since childhood. Whose regrets revolved around allowing an instinctive response to hinder the progress in a relationship he actually wanted deep down. Something he had plenty of time and opportunity to change.

Until Thanos came knocking.

Until Stephen made the decision that would cut their time together short.

“You know something else I saw in those timelines? I saw similarities between Tony and I. I watched him save so many people, drag on the fights for as long as possible. Desperate to save everyone. We were so similar in mind.

“And in the timelines where we were able to stave off Thanos for a little while longer, push him back for a week or two or a month, I saw us becoming friends in each and every one. We just clicked together, under a united cause to save the universe. Our mannerisms molded together perfectly. We drove everyone up walls when we teamed up. Tony opened up a lot faster with me than he did anyone else, even Pepper and Rhodey, surprisingly. He shared Peter with me, and I grew to love their dynamic, their budding father-son relationship.

“In the times he died, he trusted me to protect the people he loved. And I failed him. Each and every time. Other times, he thrust himself into the line of fire to save me. And I still failed him. I failed to save  _ him _ , and I failed to save his people. Every. Single. Time.”

Stephen blinks back tears. Wong looks at him sorrowfully.

“In the only timeline where we saved the universe, I still fail Tony. No matter what scenario I conjured up, I’m still unable to do anything to help get the Infinity Stones away from Thanos. Something always got in the way. The ocean, Thanos’ experience, the time it took to cast a spell, anything. Only Tony and his nanobots could’ve bought enough time and distraction to get the Infinity Stones. It was  _ his _ gauntlet, after all. Tony had to die to kill Thanos. No matter what.”

Stephen’s head swims with all of the 14 million futures he saw in the Time Stone. The room swims with his dizziness.

“In that timeline, I give up the Time Stone consciously. I save Tony Stark, but only for 5 more years. In exchange, I kill his son. And half the universe.

“After the Vanished come back, I have to place myself at a distance and position where I’m unable to help. I had to put myself in a place where I couldn’t do anything. I had to put myself there, so I could raise my index finger to tell Tony what he had to do. I told him to  _ die _ .”

Wong opens his mouth, about to protest. Stephen shoots him a bitter smile, which stops him in his tracks.

“Don’t give me reassurances, Wong. It changes nothing. I don’t care if ‘it couldn’t be helped’, or ‘I had no other choice’. It was still conscious planning, conscious actions. Like the girl from London, it was still a death. One I had to encourage.”

Stephen presses his lips together.

“Tony and I could’ve been friends,” he adds. “We understood each other on a different level. I had to throw away that chance for the fate of the universe. But that’s why this death, this case is so different. I already saw him as something of a friend after looking through 14 million timelines. When I raised my hand….it felt like I was telling a  _ friend  _ to  _ die _ .”

Wong’s face crumples.

“Oh, Stephen.”

Stephen turns away quietly, not even protesting the tears on his face.

“This is why it’s bad practice for a doctor to examine close friends and family,” he mutters. Stephen shakes his head and continues, his voice taking on a more desperate tone.

“Tony always had the chance to just give up on us. He could’ve hidden away the solution to time travel. In some cases, he did. But it was never because of selfishness. He was such a good person. Not only that, he could’ve become one of my closest friends. He could’ve continued to be a father to Morgan. He had that choice. He could’ve moved on, left us in the past. But he didn’t. Because…..because he couldn’t ignore the possibility of having Peter back in a better world, of taking another crack at his relationship with him. But he didn’t know that no matter what he did, he would never have that chance, because he had to die.”

Stephen blinks. The inky darkness had grown into a thin net that was currently trying to squeeze his heart. He sighs, calming himself.

“I took away Tony’s chance to reinvent his relationship with the kid.”

_ “Stephen.” _

“Shut up, Wong. It is what it is, and what it feels like. Please don’t attempt to twist logic around it just yet. It’s too soon for that.”

Wong begrudgingly stays quiet. Stephen wipes away the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“And because of how I cut their time together short, he’s now a ghost. From our talk, it is clear that Tony’s Obsession is probably Peter. All we need to do is confirm it with his ghost properties. And tell him, of course.”

Wong continued staring at him, sadness in his eyes. Stephen sighs.

“I’ve always hated the possibility of ghosts as a doctor. It just meant that it was possible a patient was suffering in the afterlife because I couldn’t save them. And now that Tony’s one, I’m face to face with that exact guilt I feared back then.”

“Stephen—”

“But it’s so much worse. Now that he’s here, I’m constantly reminded of the possibilities we missed. Whenever I see the tributes paid in honor of Iron Man, I’m reminded that we lost a hero. Whenever I see  _ Tony _ , I’m constantly reminded that Tony and I could’ve been friends as we  _ become _ friends. And now, I’m always reminded that I took away Peter’s father figure, took away Tony’s son, brought them apart. Separated them.”

Stephen lets out one final breath.

“But of course,” he says wryly, in the most bitter tone Wong has ever heard from the other. “Just like all the other times.  _ It couldn’t be helped. _ ”

Wong closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Stephen.”

Stephen shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, too. But regardless of the burden, it is a responsibility I must carry.” Stephen opens his eyes, this time looking at Wong with a newly resolute expression. “Can you see why I want to take this chance? Why I don’t want to give up on him? Protect Tony from the rest of the sorcerers until he can go on his own? I’ve already missed so many possibilities, let so many slip away. I don’t want to let this one go. Not when there’s a chance. And not when Tony didn’t let it go either.”

Wong didn’t need to search Stephen’s expression for long. Within moments, he was nodding.

“I understand,” Wong says gravely. A new fire was lit in the other man’s eyes. “I will help you.”

Stephen gives him a simple, tired smile.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy, y’all. I’m back! I’m sorry I broke my promise and actually went rogue for 4 weeks instead of the 2 weeks like I promised a month or so ago. I’ve been having an existential crisis all summer long, and it came to a head recently. I just didn’t feel like working on this fic for a while. But I’m back now, so regular Saturday updates will resume next week. However, I think I might have to switch to a biweekly update at some point. I mean, for real, writing an almost 30 page chapter each week? I CAN do that, but I have reality to worry about.
> 
> On another note, I saw FFH yesterday! What a fucking roller coaster. So, as I’ve said before, this fic will NOT be FFH compliant. But I WILL write more fics in the future that revolve around FFH. Oh, god, that movie hurt. I started tearing up right when the movie started, suddenly regretting my decision to watch it. XD
> 
> This chapter is NOT EDITED. Nothing I write is betaed (how the fuck do you spell that), and I’m NOT HAPPY with Stephen’s part. But I figured I kept y’all waiting long enough, so I’m gonna just throw this chapter out there. Might edit it later in the week.
> 
> In a previous version of this end note, I was taking apart and expressing confusion over that one scene about the “Snap tearing the multiverse” and the Russo’s comments about it. I just didn’t understand why that was a thing, because it made no fucking sense. After watching FFH, I finally understood why that made no sense and was confronted with my first “false scene in a trailer” experience with the MCU. Fucking thanks, assholes. 
> 
> Stephen’s part is literally just him talking for like an hour. Aelaer left a long comment explaining their view of what Doctor Strange is like. So this is partially based off of their ideas. I have a few medical professionals in my family (one of my siblings is a nurse), so I kind of realize it’s a little exaggerated here. But I have seen my sister have bad days because a patient wasn’t doing well, or other nurses weren’t doing their best to comfort the patients. But then there were the rare BAD days, where a patient passed away. It was very different from normal. But she hides it well, and the burden of her work never really manifests outside of her workplace. It’s like doctors and nurses become a completely different person when they’re working. I’m pretty sure people in the medical field go through some kind of personal training/discipline to prepare them for the crueler parts of their jobs. They’re probably taught coping methods. And they do save lives everyday, so there’s always some good.
> 
> Next chapter, we finally have that Sunday dinner with the Parkers! I know Peter isn’t really THAT present in the story (Stephen has more screen time than him, ffs, I should’ve thought that over) but he’s still an integral part in this story. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know it’s not my best, but hey, sometimes, half-assed effort is better than nothing. Please leave a comment about your thoughts!
> 
> —Ronan
> 
> PS: I made a tumblr (@ronanvespertine), which I’m gonna use more often to update y’all on what’s happening with me and my fics. So if you’re ever wondering why I dropped off the face of the earth, check there for a message! XD And sorry for the cursing, just having a mood.


	8. Sunday Dinner at the Parkers'

When Tony steps into the Parker residence, he is met by mayhem.

“Ned! Ned! Ned, get the fucking fire extinguisher!”

“It’s not here! May, I thought you always kept it in the kitchen?!”

“I moved it somewhere! Peter, stop spraying water everywhere, it’s not landing anywhere near the oven!”

Tony stands in the middle of the living room, watching the chaos from a few feet away. There’s a blank expression on his face. Of all the things to walk in on, he never expected a cooking disaster. Amusement rises in him, washing away the somberness of his last conversation with Stephen.

Though that fire _is_ starting to reach a concerning size.

“Where’d you put it?!”

“I don’t remember! And the last time I used it, it had no juice left! I haven’t bought a replacement, either!”

“Shit!” 

“Shut the oven!”

“There’s fire everywhere, Pete! I can’t reach the handle!”

“For fuck’s sake—!”

Peter kicks the oven door closed, temporarily containing the fire inside. He starts hopping around, patting out his legs. As the kid comes around the kitchen island separating Tony from the three occupants, he realizes Peter’s trying to pat out the fire on his jeans. The flames are steadily crawling up to his thighs.

“Peter, your pants are on fire!” Ned shrieks.

“No fucking _shit_! Go get May’s extendable shower head from the bathroom!”

“Oh my god, you’re a genius!”

As Ned rushes into the depths of the apartment, May frantically swats at Peter’s hands, which are starting to get blisters from the burns. The fire successfully crawls up the full length of Peter’s leg and starts to eat away at his shirt.

“Just—! Take them off, Pete, take them _off!_ ”

Fifteen minutes later, the door opens. Tony watches from his new perch on the kitchen island as Pepper walks through the unlocked door holding Morgan’s hand. The strongest, most composed woman Tony had ever met pauses at the doorway, slowly taking in the apartment. 

The smoky air still smells of burnt roast. Ned is holding a shower head, which is clumsily connected to the kitchen faucet. The sputtering stream of water is being aimed at the blackened, smoldering oven. A pair of jeans and a slightly burned shirt have been thrown over the edge of the sink, dripping water onto the kitchen floor. The kitchen tiles shine with water puddles

At her entrance, everyone had looked up and froze. Ned is wearing a gobsmacked expression of awe, the arms holding the shower head dipping down a bit. May is aiming a sheepish grin toward Pepper as she holds out a towel for Peter. And Peter is frozen, wearing nothing but his boxers, practically naked in the middle of the wet kitchen floor. A little blush lights up his cheeks.

“Hello, Pepper,” May greets cordially as Peter grabs the towel in her hands lightning fast. The boy wraps it around his lower half, stumbling a little as he scrambles toward his room and slams the door shut. “Please excuse the mess. We had...a bit of an incident before you came here.”

Pepper doesn’t say anything. Tony laughs at her carefully polite, neutral expression. Morgan steps out from behind her, a huge grin on her face.

“Was that Peter in his underwear?!” she gloats, her childish glee emerging. Tony mirrors the sharp grin on her face that’s full of the promise of torture. Pepper glances down at her, sighing.

“Be nice to Peter, honey,” she warns. There’s no doubt in Tony’s mind that Pepper is rueing the fact that Morgan had adopted many of Tony’s scathing mannerisms.

“But it was Hello Kitty underwear!”

“Ned, I think that’s good enough. You should get going, you’ve been here for too long.”

“Oh no, my parents are gonna kill me. Thanks for letting me stay over for a while!”

“No problem.”

Five minutes later, when Ned is already gone and the two women are situated on the living room couch mulling over their options for food delivery, Tony is watching Morgan explore the house on her own. Her intelligent eyes sweep over everything in the apartment, no doubt playing a detective in her mind. Tony follows her around, watching her look at pictures displayed in various places around the apartment, awards mounted in eye-catching areas. 

Tony notices the picture frames have been freshly dusted and newly placed. May had put away many of the pictures after the Snap, their memories too painful to look at and remember with the fresh wound of loss. He’s glad that the woman finally had the chance to bring them back out to proudly display around the apartment. It was one of the things he missed about the Parker residence after the Snap. The history of photography and various snapshots of moments in the Parker families’ lives on display gave loads of character to the apartment, almost to obnoxious amounts.

Morgan stops at one of the only frames that have been left face down. Curiously, she sets it upright. Tony smiles. It’s the internship picture that he took with Peter all those years ago, the same one he looked at when he decided to at least give the possibility of time travel a shot. Just for him. Just for Peter. Tony wonders why May decided to keep this one face down.

There’s the sound of something falling from Peter’s room.

Tony is struck with the possibility that it wasn’t May who decided to turn the frame down.

Morgan tilts her head in confusion, looking at the picture with a frown.

“Why isn’t this picture standing?” she asks toward the occupants in the living room. May looks up, a smile on her face from one of Pepper’s jokes. It falls when she sees the picture in Morgan’s hands.

“Oh,” May breathes, before clearing her throat. “We, ah...I think it’s best for that one to stay face down for a while. Peter hasn’t been feeling too great, lately. And I think that would help.”

Morgan puckers her lips, as if disagreeing. Nevertheless, she leaves it down. Morgan moves on past the pictures, starting to read the awards on the wall and display case. Tony reads the labels fleetingly. The earliest one he found was from a 4th grade science fair.

“What a nerd,” Morgan mutters to herself. Tony snickers.

Morgan walks over to the kitchen, eyes wide and starving with curiosity to explore the aftermath of the chaos they had walked in on. Pepper calls out to her, having been keeping an eye on her movements the entire time.

“Morgan, sweetie, don’t go there just yet. You could slip.”

“Oh, dear. I should get a mop.”

“I’ll help you with that.”

“Oh, no, no. You don’t need to—”

“I want to. The food’s not going to be here for 30 minutes anyway. And I was dying to talk to you about the latest episode.”

“Ugh. Do we really need to?”

“Yep. I told you Jackie was compatible.”

“It makes no sense!”

Morgan pouts as she trails back into the living room, climbing up onto the couch and crossing her arms in silent protest. Tony follows, sitting down beside her with a smile. He listens to May and Pepper’s conversation in the kitchen about that late-night cop drama they’ve been obsessed with. Apparently, (Tony rolls his eyes as the memory comes back to him) the love interests of the main character were some real eye candy, according to Pepper.

Twenty minutes pass. Tony starts to wonder what Peter is doing in his room to be taking such a long time. It seems that Morgan is thinking the same thing, judging from how she occasionally sneaks a glance at the two women conversing in the kitchen. Tony knows what the little squirt is up to, thanks to a couple of years of learning his kid’s behavior.

When Morgan deems the two women distracted enough (Tony’s not jealous at all of how Pepper is raving about her favorite character’s shower scene), she silently slides off the couch and tiptoes to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Tony follows her, hands in his pockets as he amusedly watches Morgan’s shenanigans for the first time unseen.

Morgan makes it to the hallway, out of sight from her mother. She looks at the three doors before her and frowns. Walking over to the first one, she puts her ear to the door and listens.

_“—make her worry about me, Ned.”_

Bingo.

Morgan barges into the room, Tony following right behind her with a snarky grin on his face. Peter comically whirls around, thankfully wearing a sweater and jeans. His surprised expression only fuels the amusement in the older man.

“What the—? Morgan?”

“What are you doing?” Morgan asks briskly, starting her absolutely necessary exploration of the bedroom. In the meantime, Tony watches Peter look around the room frantically for anything he needs to hide.

“Uh, just talking to my friend Ned. Where’s your—?”

“Ooooh, is that slime?”

“No! No!” Peter hastily grabs the beaker of bubbling web fluid and puts it farther out of reach. “It’s a, uh, science project. Yeah.”

“Daddy says all science experiments need to be conducted in a safe, secure environment.”

Peter snorts in derision.

“Yeah, right. Your dad’s a complete hypocrite.”

_Fuck you, Pete._

Despite being roasted by his two kids, Tony’s having a grand time at the moment. Peter seems to resign himself to Morgan’s presence in his room as he takes a seat on his bed, saying a quick goodbye to his friend on the phone.

“I gotta go, Ned. See you tomorrow.”

_“Peter—!”_

Peter hangs up quickly, turning to Morgan warily. Tony wonders what the two boys were talking about prior to Morgan’s entrance.

Morgan is scrunching her face at all the Star Wars posters Peter has on his walls. When she comes across a lego sculpture half-built at the teen’s desk, she beams.

“Legos!”

“Yep. You like legos, Morgan?”

“Yeah. Daddy bought me a bunch of sets because he thought I would enjoy them. He said you enjoyed them, so…”

“Oh…”

Peter looks winded. And a little sheepish.

“Uh, but that doesn’t necessarily mean _you’d_ enjoy them, right?”

“No. But I did. I like building things.”

“....Oh.”

“You can say it, you know?”

“Say what?”

“That I’m just like my dad.”

Peter gives her a small smile. Morgan turns back to exploring Peter’s room, with Peter’s eyes quietly watching her movements. Tony decides to make his perch against the desk, where he can easily view all corners of the room. Morgan moves over to the pile of clothes on the floor, kicking them with disgust.

“But I’m also like my mom because I clean up after myself. Unlike you two.”

Peter barks out a laugh. The sound startles Tony, making the ghost jump. It’s the first time in a long while that he’s seen the kid laugh.

“That’s good. Means you won’t have trouble finding things.”

“That’s right. So good luck finding those legos pieces I just hid in your laundry.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I’m never nice. It’s all for the cameras.”

Tony enjoys the amused smirk on Peter’s face. He never thought Morgan would have grown comfortable enough with Peter so soon to engage in ribbing battles like she did with her father. It’s a relief. Additionally, Morgan’s sarcasm doesn’t seem to be causing Peter any grief anymore.

“What cameras, Mor? I didn’t realize you brought paparazzi over to my house.”

“They’re _everywhere._ Daddy used to tell me horror stories of the scary photographers that followed him to the bathroom.”

“Uh, ew. And you know I’m kind of a photographer, too.”

Morgan points an accusing finger at Peter.

“See? _Paps._ They’re _everywhere._ ”

Peter snickers.

“I don’t invade people’s privacy.”

“Sure you don’t. Show me some of your pictures.”

“Most of the developed ones are out in the living room. But I have some on my phone.” Peter picks up his phone again and unlocks it.

“Ew, what is that?”

“It’s a phone, Mor.”

“Ugh. Really? That just looks like a block.”

“Well, _sorry_ if not all of us can afford a Stark phone.”

Morgan climbs onto Peter’s bed next to him, claiming she can do it herself. Peter leaves her be, scrolling through his phone screen to get to his picture gallery. Morgan snuggles up to Peter’s side, peering intently at the screen as Peter brings up an album of pictures.

Tony sits right next to Peter, also curious. He’s seen Peter’s photos around the apartment the few times he visited, but never really got a show of his whole collection. They scroll through admittedly fantastic shots of New York, some showing off the way sunlight lands on the signature skyscrapers. Other times, the photos are of regular citizens on a regular day, showcasing the life of a New Yorker. Tony recognizes a few of the places in Manhattan, but otherwise is clueless about the rest. Only a friendly neighborhood superhero could be that familiar with the ins and outs of New York.

They come across a picture of an illegal arms deal at a construction site.

“Oh shit—”

“Are those _guns_?”

“Uh—”

Tony’s not at all concerned with Peter’s cursing. He’s more concerned about the fact that Spider-Man is also familiar with New York’s underground.

“They’re...toys?”

Morgan gives him a deadpan look.

“Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

Peter draws back, feigning hurt.

“ _Hey_.”

“But seriously,” Morgan continues, looking closely. She frowns. “Are those bad guys? Why are you taking pictures of them?”

“Uh…to report them to the police...”

Morgan squints at him, suspicious.

“Okayyyyy…”

Eventually, Peter reaches the end of his height defying photoshoots on his phone. (Tony knows that Peter’s just trying to avoid another criminalizing photo from showing up again.) Morgan hops off the bed, taking another journey through Peter’s room as Peter looks around his desk for his professional camera.

“Why do you always lean outside of the windows for pictures?”

“‘Cause it’s better.”

“I didn’t even know the windows on skyscrapers open that high up.”

“It...Usually, they don’t…?”

Morgan shuffles towards the closet, reaching for the knob. Tony smiles as he glances toward Peter, who’s oblivious to Morgan’s movements as he crawls under his desk for the sighted camera bag.

“Then how did you get those pictures?”

“Uh, I asked for them to open the window and—”

Tony watches with smug satisfaction as Morgan slides open the closet doors to reveal Peter’s Spider-Man suit thrown haphazardly over the bar.

“You’re Spider-Man?”

Peter is so startled by Morgan’s discovery that he tries to fly straight to his feet while still under his desk. Tony snorts and tries to smother his chuckles as Peter yelps at the pain then scrambles backwards, eyes wide as he turns to look at Morgan. At the sight of the open closet door and his suit hanging there on plain display, he stammers.

“I—Er—It’s not—Ugh, wait, look—”

Morgan watches him undergo a breakdown disinterestedly. Tony wishes his clapping could make sounds as he flops over like a walrus, wheezing.

“Is it really that hard to say ‘yes, I am’?” Morgan asks blandly. Tony barks out a laugh as Peter’s face turns fire hydrant red.

“No! I mean—uh—”

Peter ends up staring at Morgan for a few seconds in silence before suddenly flopping facedown onto the carpet with a groan.

“I’ll have to admit, this was not one of my finer moments,” he mutters into the floor. Morgan crooks an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll bet. How’s your head?”

Peter’s hand flaps to his head. Upon touching it, he winces a little.

“It’ll be fine in a bit.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t check for blood.”

“I’m sure. My head’s a bit tougher than most people’s.”

“That explains a lot.”

Peter snorts. He looks back up at Morgan in disbelief.

“What in the world did Tony do to give you all that sarcasm?”

“I dunno. He always said something about birds and bees during a vacation he and Mommy took before I was born. But I don’t think animals gave me my personality.”

Peter lets out a low whistle and turns away from Morgan.

“As far as I know, Morgan, Mister Stark was the animal in that picture.”

Tony shrieks. 

_“Pete!”_

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Does it have anything to do with how I sometimes hear Daddy at night with—”

“ _Okay_ , we’re stopping this conversation. Right now. Let’s go eat dinner.”

“Fine.”

“By the way, don’t tell anyone I’m Spider-Man, okay?”

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous for people to know my identity.”

“But I can’t lie to my Mommy.”

“Your Mommy already knows.”

“Oh.”

* * *

 

Dinner at the Parker residence was exactly the kind of healing everyone needed after Thanos’ attack. Pepper and May have grown closer, with May becoming a much needed beacon of support for Pepper, who was now alone in the world. As Tony listens to the conversations over Thai take-out, he beams as Pepper finally accepts May’s invitation to meet her other girlfriends. Pepper had never really let herself build much of a social circle outside of Tony’s friends. Her work as the CEO of Stark Industries often took up too much of her time, and she preferred to use her free time to spend with Tony and Morgan. Tony’s really, really happy that Pepper is finally trying out a normal life.

Tony turns his attention to his two kids, who never fail to entertain him. Peter and Morgan have clicked together seamlessly. He was able to get along better with Morgan than most people. Sometimes, Tony regrets the fact that Morgan inherited his intellect, separating her from the other kids at school. She didn’t have many friends her age, and the few she did have were mostly friends out of polite courtesy. Additionally, many adults she came across would treat her as if she was _incapable_ , which both infuriated and discouraged her. So Morgan was often alone outside of the Stark-Potts house.

Tony watches as Peter shoves a spoonful of spinach into Morgan’s mouth, laughing at her protests. Thank god he had met Peter, and had taken the opportunity to try out the whole “parenting” thing with him. From conversations with May, Tony had learned that Peter had also grown up a wallflower like Morgan throughout his elementary school years. But May and Ben had put him into a more rigorous school environment in middle school. While he was still a bit of a loner, his mind had _thrived_. And once Peter entered Midtown, the boy had found his place amongst peers who could match his pace.

Tony and Pepper had based most of their “parenting plans” around Tony’s experience and observations with Peter, with some advice from May. Pepper had the list they made of potential schools Morgan would thrive in.

All thanks to Peter.

Morgan steals a shrimp from Peter’s plate and triggers a war of dining utensils. Pepper finally breaks off the conversation with May to roll her eyes at the two miscreants.

“Are you two going to continue playing or are you going to finish your food?” she deadpans. Peter and Morgan instantly adopt innocent expressions, chewing their food as if they didn’t have rice smeared all over their faces.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks innocently. May snorts at him.

“Don’t try to act cute, Peter. Only Morgan can do that now.”

Peter pouts jokingly.

“I’m cute, too.”

Morgan giggles.

“You’re too weird to be cute.”

Peter rears his head back in offense.

“What?!”

Pepper laughs. Tony brightens at the tinkling sound. God, he is still so smitten with her. If anything, Tony had fallen in even more love with her in the past 5 years, filling his dreary heart with her kindness and ever-increasing understanding of him.

Hell, he’s swooning right now.

“So, Peter,” Pepper begins conversationally as the dinner table finally regains its peace. Tony pulls himself out of his rose-tinted lenses with great reluctance. “Your birthday is coming up soon, right?”

“Ah, yeah,” Peter replies, a little hesitantly. His mood noticeably dims. Pepper blinks. “It’s August 10. I’m turning 17.”

“Huh.” Pepper seems to scrutinize Peter a bit more. “You don’t seem all too excited about it,” she observes. Peter just smiles at his food, not looking up to meet her eyes as he scoops up another spoonful of Thai cuisine.

“It loses its glamor, you know?” he says, shrugging. “It’s just another year. I’m thinking we should probably just skip the….the party.”

Pepper doesn’t look convinced. 

“No one would mind if you had your party at the Compound,” Pepper suggests. “We could invite everyone, too. They don’t seem like it, but heroes really enjoy kids parties. It gives them an excuse to go crazy.”

Peter smiles a little, but there’s a strained note to it.

“I can imagine that,” he says quietly. There seems to be a heavier weight behind his words. Tony doesn’t understand the slight change of tone, but Pepper seems to, judging by the twist in her expression.

“Oh, Peter—”

“Hey! Mor, stop stealing my shrimp!”

 Tony watches the rest of the dinner pass by with plenty of moments of laughter and play. He notices that the thoughtful look on Pepper’s face never disappears.

* * *

 

When Happy calls to say he’s ready to pick them up downstairs, Peter and May accompany the mother and daughter to the car. Tony follows, sequestered in the tight corner of the elevator where no one is standing. May and Pepper naturally chat about anything and everything, whilst Peter swats away Morgan’s attempts to press every single button on the elevator panel. Tony watches them with a smile as Peter wrestles with Morgan playfully.

“Eek! No! Let me push the buttons!”

“If you push all the buttons, we’ll never make it to the car!”

A few moments later, the elevator stops and the doors slide open. Peter immediately secures Morgan in his arms and walks out, keeping a tight grip on the little girl’s squealing and twisting form. Pepper and May follow behind him, Tony beside his wife to soak in her presence for a little while longer. When the group finally walks out onto the sidewalk, Pepper signals to Happy. 

“Can you keep her entertained for a bit?” the CEO asks in response to the driver’s questioning stare. “I want to give Peter something.”

Peter perks up at the mention of his name. As Happy takes Morgan’s hand and walks over to May’s side with an almost comical attempt of swagger, he reluctantly abandons May’s side to follow Pepper to the car. Tony trails curiously behind them. The ghost watches with amusement as Peter shoots Happy a nasty look for a particularly bad pick-up line on his way to Pepper’s side.

Pepper leads him to the trunk of the car. Tony peeks over Peter’s head— _was the kid always this tall?_ —watching as Pepper’s delicate hands find the latch and release the trunk, pulling it open. Both Peter and Tony’s eyes fall onto the eye-catching thing sitting lonely inside the trunk.

Tony blushes.

“Pepper!” he whines.

Peter crooks his head curiously at the Spider Bear, clueless of Tony’s embarrassment. Pepper grabs the Spider Bear, dusting it off a bit with a disapproving click of her tongue before handing it to Peter. The kid takes it hesitantly, fingers roaming over the fabric in an exploratory fashion.

“What’s this for?” Peter asks curiously. Pepper closes the trunk, taking a deep breath before turning to Peter. She’s wearing a cautious expression on her face.

“That is Tony’s custom-ordered gift for your 16th birthday. He never found the right time to give it to you.”

Peter blinks as he looks at the Spider Bear. Tony carefully watches Peter’s expression, apprehensively trying to gauge his reaction. There’s an indecipherable glaze in the boy’s eyes that Tony can’t read.

“...We invited him to the party, though.”

“He…” Pepper sighs at the memory. Tony feels oddly chastised as Pepper continues with an exasperated tone. “He was being an idiot. You know how he was. It was literally locked up next to your lab station.”

“Really?” Peter’s disbelief is evident. “It’s been there this whole time?”

Tony feels indignant at the snort Pepper lets out.

“Believe me, I know how you feel.”

“Wow, Mister Stark,” Peter mumbles into the bear’s head as he takes an experimental sniff. “This takes emotional constipation to a whole new level.”

Tony decides to take revenge by walking through him. Peter gets attacked by the usual violent case of shivers. He pulls the Spider Bear closer to his body, seeking warmth.

“Uh, well, thanks for giving this to me, Pepper,” Peter says quietly. Pepper smiles at him.

“Thank Tony for getting it,” she replies easily. She places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, demanding his attention. “Let May and I handle your party, okay? Morgan’s never really been to a big, happy birthday before. She’ll enjoy yours.”

Peter reluctantly nods his head.

“Alright. Have a safe drive back.”

Pepper and Morgan drive away soon after, leaving the two Parkers and a ghost on the sidewalk. As they walk back inside, Tony watches as Peter clutches the Spider Bear close to his chest with a conflicted expression on his face.

* * *

 

Tony is in the bathroom, waiting as Peter gets ready for bed. May had already turned in for the night. The high schooler stayed up one more hour to get some last-minute homework done, prompting Tony to wonder how the kid managed to juggle his academics, the decathlon, and Spider-Man all those years ago. As Peter assaults his teeth with his toothbrush, his phone rings. Tony watches as Peter picks it up and glances over the caller ID. The teenager groans before tapping the screen. 

_Click._

“What, Ned?” Peter asks, annoyed as he spits the last of his toothpaste into the sink. He washes off, unaware of Tony’s incredulous look at the razor in his storage cup when he plops the toothbrush back into place. “It’s one in the morning. Don’t you have that physics quiz tomorrow?”

_“I’ll be fine. But have you talked to May at all?”_

“How many times do I have to tell you, Ned?” Peter sighs, walking out of the bathroom and heading down the hall to his room. He lowers his voice as he passes May’s room, unaware of Tony’s silent footsteps behind him. “I’m _fine._ I don’t need to talk to her.”

_“If you won’t talk to me or May, then who are you gonna talk to?”_

“Nobody. I told you, nothing’s wrong.”

_“Pete, your behavior is really worrying me,”_ Ned replies, a business-like tone to his voice. Peter scoffs as he walks into his room, Tony on his heels.

“You sound like May from 5 years ago,” he shoots back. “What are you, my therapist? Stop trying to fix me. You wouldn’t have done a very good job of it anyway.”

_“Peter.”_ There’s no disguising the hurt in Ned’s voice. Tony’s face pinches as he stops to watch Peter climb into bed, moving the Spider Bear next to him. His kid doesn’t seem to register the harmful effect of his words.

“Seriously, Ned. Stop bugging me about this. I’ll see you in school.”

_“...fine.”_ There’s a cold bite to Ned’s words. Tony watches as Peter frowns at his phone in confusion. _“Whatever. I’ll stop bugging you. But I’m telling you, Pete, you gotta talk to someone. If not me or Aunt May, then someone else. See you tomorrow.”_

Ned hangs up. Peter looks at his phone for a second, seemingly at a bit of a loss. Tony thinks he sees a flicker of regret in his eyes. But as soon as he sees it, it’s gone with Peter chucking his phone onto his desk with a loud _clack!_

The teenager sighs, sinking deeper into his bedsheets. Tony finds it strange that Peter’s curled up close against the wall. Usually, the kid sprawls across his bed like a loose starfish. Now, the teenager looks small and withdrawn as he hugs the Spider Bear and settles under the covers. Tony sits down behind him, needlessly worrying about making the bed squeak. But thanks to his weightlessness, the bed doesn’t cave underneath him. Tony reaches out thoughtlessly, his hand inches from Peter’s head before he can really think about it.

_“You have to leave him, Tony.”_

Tony pauses.

He lets his hand drop down beside him.

Peter stays unaware of his presence, sighing into the fabric of his late birthday gift. He shifts a little while Tony tumbles a little with the familiar feeling of loss within himself.

“You’re really soft,” Peter mutters to the Spider Bear. Tony pulls himself away from his internal moshpit of feelings to listen. “Mister Stark never settled for anything less than perfect, huh?”

Tony smiles.

_You got that right, Pete._

The two sit in silence for a while. Tony decides to find a comfortable position at the foot of Peter’s bed, closer to the window for easy access to the mindless entertainment of passing lives on the city streets below.

He hears Peter sigh. The boy has been staring at the Spider Bear, lost in his own thoughts. Tony wonders when he’ll close his eyes. What could be keeping him awake now?

“You know, Mister Stark was a pretty weird guy,” Peter blurts suddenly. Tony startles at the sudden break in the silence. He turns to Peter, finding him with his eyes trained on the Spider Bear. Peter gives no indication of recognizing his presence as he continues talking.

“He kinda sucked at teaching me in the beginning. But he got better at it. Mister Stark was an _amazing_ teacher,” Peter continues, a tinge of happiness coloring his words. Tony feels his heart swell from the praise.

“He taught me so many cool things,” Peter whispers, lowering his voice. “How to understand and alter Karen’s coding, how to scope out an environment, how to make a mini AI program…” 

Peter smiles. There’s a strained note to it. Tony wonders why he’s talking to the Spider Bear. Did Ned’s words get to him somehow?

“But sometimes, he did things I just couldn’t understand,” Peter confesses, his fingers clenching the bear’s fat arms for a second before relaxing. “He hated it when I asked about his day, or tried to treat his injuries after a fight. But then he’d turn around and go all papa bear on me when I drop into the Med Bay missing half a liter of blood. He was so awkward when I gave him the mini-bot for his birthday, like he didn’t know what to do with it or something. But then he threw a full-on _Rolex_ at me like it was nothing. And told me to shut up when I asked what it was for.” 

Peter pauses, saying nothing for a moment. Tony mulls over the kid’s words, quietly reviewing his own actions from five years ago.

“I mean…” Peter trails off, expression suddenly filling with hurt. Tony feels alarm overtake him. “Did he not want me to get too close to him…?”

Tony feels his heart pinch in pain.

_Oh, Pete._

“I don’t know what he wanted from me,” Peter whispers quietly. The Spider Bear sits statically, inanimate and dead. “Did he just keep me around so he could have Spider-Man on-call? But then what was all—what were the sleepovers for? Or the trip to the county fair? Or that one time he kidnapped me and flew me over the Statue of Liberty?”

Peter glares at the Spider Bear.

“What were _you_ for?” Peter mutters irritatedly. 

Tony flinches. Peter’s eyes start to water, but the boy rubs at them determinedly.

“Why did he want me to be one of his groomsmen?” Peter mutters. “It didn’t _matter_ , right? Pepper said they didn’t really care who was walking down the aisle with them aside from Rhodey and Happy. They just needed to fill out the roster with people they knew. So did he not want to ask me because it was just an obligation and he didn’t want me to misunderstand?”

_No Pete,_ Tony thought desperately. He found his hand automatically trying to reach out for the kid. _I wanted you because I trusted you. Because I liked you. Because you were my kid._

“He—He just wanted me for Spider-Man, right?” Peter asks the bear. There’s a shaky doubt in his voice. “He just wanted a sidekick. That’s all we were, right?”

Tony places a hand on the blanket where he assumes Peter’s knee is. Peter curls up in his blankets, leaving the Spider Bear outside of them to flop over desolately.

“Then why does it hurt so much?” Peter asks so faintly into his pillow that Tony can barely hear him. The ghost is torn with indecision.

_“You have to leave him, Tony.”_

_I don’t want to,_ Tony thinks painfully. _I don’t want to leave him. I only had a year with him. And I left him thinking I didn’t care about him! I can’t just leave things the way they are!_

Tony punches the wall beside him in frustration. As usual, there’s no sound. Peter is huddled in his blankets, his face obscured by the thick comforter. The rise and fall of his breathing indicates that he’s still not asleep yet.

_I can’t leave him hanging again._

But Stephen’s annoyingly blunt logical voice in his mind cuts through that thought. And with it, Tony sinks against the footboard in defeat and watches the cars pass through the street below, unable to look at Peter for the rest of the night as the imaginary sorcerer’s words echo through his head.

_“It’s too late for that, Tony. You’re dead.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this supposed to be a happy chapter? Huh. Funny that.
> 
> FFH was exactly what I expected Peter to go through. Though he’s more of an “avoid the responsibilities” type in the movie in comparison to this fic, where he’s a “drown yourself in responsibilities” type. Self-punishing, in a way. Oof. Different coping mechanisms.
> 
> The thing I want to call attention to in the movie is how Peter didn’t really understand that Tony trusted him with EDITH, trusted him as an Avenger, trusted him as Peter. So it seems that Tony wasn’t really able to get Peter to recognize that before the Snap. And that could be due to both Tony’s aversion to vulnerability and Peter’s lacking self-image. This is something I tried to build on a bit in this chapter.
> 
> I thought someone at Marvel said Aunt May survived the Snap, but I guess not. In this fic, she did, so she was around for those 5 years. (That explains the change in Peter’s bedroom in the trailer. They had to look for a new apartment. In this fic they’re still in the old one. It's up to your imagination, though.)
> 
> I understand that no one has time to be explaining the world after the Blip if there’s a villain at large, nor is an explanation really fit to be held in a movie, but man, I wish they made the consequences of the Snap/Blip crueler. IT'S NOT THAT EASY.
> 
> So if you follow me on Tumblr or Twitter, you know the news. But here it is for those of you who don’t:
> 
> “The Haunting of Tony Stark” will be switching to a BIWEEKLY UPLOAD SCHEDULE as of today. Which means the next update for this story should be around August 10th.
> 
> No worries, I won’t be leaving it to rust online. But I do need to free my mind from this story more often. One good thing about this change is that I’ll be uploading short oneshots in the meantime if I’m not working on the fic. Something that doesn’t really require commitment.
> 
> Let me know y’alls thoughts! Love you!


	9. A Mixed Blessing From Lady Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: A little...gore? Graphic violence, graphic depictions of bodily harm, maybe. Just a heads up, if that makes you queasy. I'll be updating the fic tags.

Peter is catching onto him.

Tony didn’t realize it at first. But as the incidents started to pile up one after another, the ghost found that Peter’s Spider Senses were growing increasingly stronger and more exceptional as his presence was noticed more and more.

First, there was the incident during one morning’s breakfast. Peter had been running late for school, and Tony had stuck to his decision to minimize any alert to his presence. The ghost had kept quiet despite the teenager snoring loudly through his alarm. When Peter finally woke up, he immediately paled as he saw the time and began racing through the apartment to get ready. 

Tony had found himself standing in the middle of the kitchen, keeping an eye on the kid’s breakfast pop tart in the toaster, while Peter scrambled to brush his teeth and comb his hair.

When Peter finally raced into the kitchen to retrieve his pop tart, however, he very clearly steered around Tony.

Tony’s heart fell still as he watched Peter freeze then turn to face the spot where Tony was standing. The boy stared eerily at the tiles for a few seconds before shrugging and going about his day.

The second incident was during a study session at Ned’s house. Ned was animatedly ranting about the confusing lesson from one of his classes while Peter listened as he looked over Ned’s incorrect work. Tony had been pacing the teen’s bedroom, also listening and muttering under his breath.

“—so I was like, ‘Miss Aragon, I don’t understand how you got from Quadrant 1 to Quadrant 3.’ And guess what she said?” Ned pitched his voice higher in mockery. “‘Then pay better attention next time, Mister Leeds.’ Seriously! What kind of teachers did Midtown hire?!”

Tony shook his head and sighed. He crouched down behind Peter and poked his head over Peter’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the kid’s corrections.

Peter curled away from him with an irritated frown.

“Ned, you gotta give me some space, man,” Peter grumbled, eyes focused on the paper. Tony flinched as Ned gave Peter a weird look.

“I’m not anywhere near you?” Ned prompted in confusion. Peter looked up then and paused as he saw Ned sitting a good few feet away in front of him.

“...oh. Must’ve been a fly.”

Ned took a few moments to give Peter a suspicious stare.

“...A  _ fly? _ ”

“Yeah, get off my back about it. Anyway, here’s what you did wrong.”

The third incident was with May and Happy. Peter had come home with Ned trailing behind him after the two had spent a considerable amount of time in the local library finishing a mini-project for one of their shared classes. The two had agreed to a sleepover. As Peter unlocked his apartment door and let it swing open, the two boys were met with the alarming sight of May and Happy kissing rather heatedly in the living room.

“Oh god!” Peter shrieked, covering his eyes as May and Happy jumped apart. Peter swatted at the empty space beside him, where Tony was beside himself with laughter. “Stop laughing!”

Ned, who was actually frozen on Peter’s left, broke out of his shellshock to stare at Peter with a strange look on his face.

“I wasn’t laughing, Peter...” Ned trailed off, a strange note to his facial expression. Peter’s whines kept the boy from hearing his friend as he angrily stomped toward Happy and started an interrogation. Tony, once he was done cackling, wiped away the tears from his eyes to find Ned still standing in the doorway of the Parker’s apartment, frowning thoughtfully as he watched Peter’s erratic gestures like a hawk.

There were several more incidents, many of them which had nothing to do with Tony’s actions and everything to do with Peter’s Spider Sense. It was concerning how attuned Peter was getting to his presence.

As Peter left for school on the seventh day since Tony was kicked out of the Sanctum, maneuvering around Tony’s presence like it was a normal part of his routine, Tony could only hope that Peter’s Spider Sense wouldn’t come to backfire on them.

* * *

 

“Peter…?”

“What?”

“...Why have you been acting like there’s someone else around you?”

Tony watches Peter look up at Ned sheepishly. Gym class is being held in the weight room today. The football players are all hogging the benchpresses, goading each other on their work. The other athletes aren’t doing too badly themselves. Some boys (Flash’s group) are trying laughably hard to impress the girls in the room, but don’t notice that the girls have congregated on the other side of the weight room to work on their legs.

Tony hadn’t been enthusiastic about watching teenagers trying to bolster their egos based on the amount of weight they could lift. But Ned has been scrutinizing Peter all day, not to the young boy’s knowledge. Tony could tell that Ned had been working up the courage to say something about the multitude of strange behaviors Peter had been engaging in throughout the week. PE was the perfect time to sneak in a conversation with his best friend, free from the pressure of mental stimulation. And Tony needed to be there to hear how the confrontation would go down.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks in a low, hesitant voice. Ned sighs, dropping his shoulders in resignation.

“This past week, you’ve been saying some weird things,” Ned explains, fixing Peter with a serious stare. “Like you’re reacting to something I can’t see.”

“Uh, no.”

“Uh, yeah?” Ned shakes his head. “Does this have anything to do with those hallucinations you told me about a few weeks back? The ones you didn’t wanna tell May about?”

Peter flinches. Tony’s memory thinks back to a late night phone call with Ned when Morgan had visited. His mentee hurriedly shushes his best friend, glancing around furtively.

“Shut up, Ned! Someone could hear,” Peter hisses.

“But Pete—”

“I told you, I got over it,” Peter soldiers on, avoiding eye contact as he focuses on what Tony knows is probably a featherweight bar to him. “I swear, they don’t bother me anymore.”

“Bullshit. You were laughing randomly all night when we were watching that new sci-fi show on Netflix. At the weirdest points in the show!”

“I wasn’t actually laughing, dude.”

Ned tilts his head side to side, half-heartedly.

“Well, okay, but you’ve been doing that weird breathing thing through your nose like you do when you read something funny on your phone.”

Peter scrunches his nose.

“Uh, ew?”

“I do it, too, don’t worry. I think everyone does it.”

“Ned, why are you—why are you watching me  _ breathe? _ ”

“I’m not watching you breathe! But you’ve been doing that kind of stuff out of nowhere, so I can’t help it! It’s weird! Also, you’re making this look too easy. Coach Wilson gave you a funny look just now.”

Tony watches as Peter dramatically scrunches up his face in a dull imitation of pain and effort. He snorts.

“What the fuck kind of face is that, Pete?” the ghost mutters under his breath, realizing too late that he spoke aloud. Peter huffs quietly to himself. Ned points accusingly at him, inches from his nose.

“See?! You just did it again!” Ned exclaims.

“I was just laughing at what you said!” Peter defends.

“A full 3 seconds after I said it?”

“I’m multitasking! My mind needs time to process.”

“Look, are you  _ sure _ you don’t need to go to a psychiatrist? Maybe they can help with these hallucinations—”

The mention of a psychiatrist twists Peter’s facial features into an uncharacteristic cold look. 

“ _ Drop it _ , Ned,” Peter warns.

Tony blinks at Peter’s drastic change in tone. There had been an icy bite to his voice that Tony didn’t like.  _ That’s your best friend you’re talking to, Pete,  _ he thinks worriedly as he settles beside Peter on the bench press.

Ned’s expression twists with hurt for a few seconds.

Then suddenly, it turns into rage.

“What is  _ wrong _ with you, man?!”

Everyone in the weight room stops what they’re doing and turns to Ned. Tony watches grimly as Peter sets the weight back onto its stand and sits up, looking at Ned with wide and confused eyes.

“What—?”

“You’ve been treating me like shit!” Ned snaps. Peter flinches. Tony cringes, watching helplessly as Ned rages, his face heating up with his anger as the boy curls his hands into fists and glares at his friend. “I’ve been  _ trying  _ to help you out, but you never tell me anything! And anytime I try to give you some advice, you just ignore me! Do I not matter anymore or what?!”

Peter grits his teeth.

“I don’t need fixing, Ned,” he growls coldly. Ned scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air.

“No, you  _ do!  _ I don’t know why, but you  _ do! _ There’s something  _ wrong  _ with you, Peter!”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Yes, there is!”

The boys are getting progressively louder. Tony watches as the PE teacher hurries in from the storage and tries to interfere.

“Boys!” the coach snaps, but his voice is lost in the torrent of heat that is rapidly picking up speed between the two friends.

“You’ve been acting weird the entire time since we blipped back!”

“That’s just your imagination!”

“No! You’ve been meaner! Ruder! You’ve been such an asshole, even Flash noticed!”

Across the room, Flash raises his hands in surrender.

“Don’t bring me into this,” Flash grumbles. Tony can tell the inclusion of Flash in Ned’s argument only added to Peter’s anger from the way Peter puffs up.

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Peter demands. Coach Wilson gets in between them, forcibly separating the two.

“You two, stand down—!”

“I’m saying you’re a dick and you need help!”

“I don’t need help!”

Coach Wilson gestures for some of the kids in the class to help herd Peter outside the weight room. Tony stands up worriedly, hovering behind his kid. Peter fights them, snarling as he slaps away the arms trying to wrap around his limbs.

“Let go of me!” Peter snarls.

“C’mon, Parker,” Flash hisses, a troubled expression on his face as he restrains Peter’s arms and starts shoving him toward the door. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Ned isn’t resisting Coach Wilson’s hold, but he’s still shouting.

“You have to talk to someone, Peter!”

“I don’t fucking need to talk to anyone!”

“Watch your language, Parker! Leeds—”

Ned throws out the final barb he has to use against Peter.

“You’re hallucinating _Tony Stark_ , for crying out loud!” Ned snaps angrily. _“You need help!”_

_ “I said I don’t  _ **_fucking need help!”_ **

“ _ Parker! _ In my office, now! Leeds, go cool off in the locker room!”

Flash shoves Peter through the door, Tony following close behind them before the door slams shut. The two boys are alone in the gym, their movements echoing loudly in the large space. Peter forcibly shoves Flash away from him and starts stomping toward the hallway doors. Flash stumbles back, a little frightened as he watches Peter stomp away.

“Peter, the office is that way—”

“Shut the fuck up, Flash.”

Tony follows hastily as Peter storms through the double doors, making them slam harshly against the walls of the school. Someone further down the hall whips around at the sound. With a sinking heart, Tony recognizes the school principal.

“Parker!”

**_Parker. Parker. Parker. Parker._ **

Tony feels off-balance and dizzy as he hurries after Peter. The fury and hatred is practically leaking off the kid in waves. Tony feels like it’s seeping into him and making him weak, unable to think clearly as he blindly follows Peter down a turn in corridors.

“Peter Parker, you come back here this instant!”

“Fuck you!” Peter venomously shouts.

Tony feels like he’s being crushed. Peter makes it to the school’s entrance, ignoring the awkward rush of the principal yards behind him as he pushes through those doors, too. Tony distantly hears the sound of cracking bricks as Peter bounds down the steps and heads for the gates, the ghost right on his tail. 

“Take one step out those gates, and you’ll be facing a week of suspension!”

“Well, good fucking riddance, then!” Peter snarls, smashing the school gates open. Tony winces as the padlock that had been securing the gate snaps off like a pretzel. He hurries after Peter, who blends in easily with the city streets, leaving behind his best friend and the school.

* * *

 

He’s lost him.

Tony worriedly wanders the streets of New York, hopelessly hoping for a glimpse of a familiar spider-themed hero. After Peter had stormed out of school, Tony was lost in a strange haze filled with anger and resentment swirling in his chest. It’s not his, that much is clear. But he doesn’t understand why he’s so affected by Peter’s pain. When Tony finally manages to clear his mind, he finds Peter swinging angrily away from a hidden alley, carrying his backpack with his civilian clothes with him. Having missed his chance for a ride, Tony found himself left aimlessly walking through the sidewalks, trying to recover his sense of direction in an unfamiliar burough.

It’s not likely that he’ll find Peter again. One of Spider-Man’s greatest strengths is his speedy way of getting around, after all. Tony resigns himself to reading subway maps to try and figure out a way back to the kid’s house to wait for him there, hoping that the spontaneous patrol will cool Peter’s head.

He has a feeling that it won’t be enough this time.

Tony is in the middle of deciphering a subway map—seriously, what are all the colors for?—when he feels a strange chill in the air. Shivering, Tony turns away from his task and looks around the subway station, wary. There’s not as many people, thanks to the unpopular hour. But there are a decent few smattered about the platform, occupied with their own business.

Odd.

The train shouldn’t be coming for another five minutes.

The air gets colder. Tony shivers, bringing his arms up to hug himself despite their lack of body heat. He feels the supernatural energy that’s holding him together start to crackle. Tony narrows his eyes, now scanning the darkened tracks for any signs of a threat. Something’s not right, and apparently, it’s putting all of his ghost instincts on edge.

The concrete floors underneath the train tracks start to bubble with a dark red substance.

Tony recognizes the liquidy goop. He remembers the day that got him booted out of the Sanctum, the bubbling red portal of Hell’s leader. The ghost feels his heart drop as he turns and scrambles to the turnstiles, running for the exit. Behind him, Tony hears the first breaths of strange, growling creatures that he doesn’t take the luxury of scoping out. Tony leaps over the turnstiles, running up the stairs as he frantically hopes Mephisto isn’t looking to harm the humans he left behind on the subway.

As Tony leaps onto the streets again and starts bolting through the crowds, he spares one hand to touch the housing unit engraved on his chest. The chill it emanates seems to grow with his fear. Tony can feel the forbidden power pulsing inside the triangle, tempting him as he hears the uneven splotches of otherworldly footsteps come out of the tunnel to pursue him.

Tony runs through a red light, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his flinches as cars run straight through his corporeal body. Behind him, the growling stops and turns into snarls, but they don’t pursue him. Tony risks a glance over his shoulder when he reaches the sidewalk and pales.

Demons. Huge, hound-like demon dogs with grimy, blackened skulls and dripping with what seems to be boiling blood. Their glowing red eye sockets eye him hungrily across the road as their teeth snap and tear at the air in front of them. Tony stops, watching the hell hounds pace the street across him. No one seems to notice them, but he realizes the hounds are in some degree tangible when he sees them avoiding contact with passing people.

_ They don’t like the cars, _ Tony observes as the dogs watch the cars speed in front of them. One of them, the smallest, decides to take a brave step into the road. A garbage truck mercilessly smashes into it, only allowing a startled whimper as the hell hound is smashed into bits of brittle bone and rotten flesh. Tony flinches as some of it gets flung his way.

A few chunks splatter onto him and start burning his corporeal body.

Tony hisses in pain, smacking off the smoking chunks. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees one of the biggest dogs crouch onto its hind legs, murderous gaze set on him. It wiggles its butt—

—and leaps straight over the traffic, coming right for Tony.

Tony bolts.

He hears the hound land inches behind him, its hot breath heating up his back as it snaps its powerful jaws right where he was standing. Tony feels his fear start to kick up as his feet soundlessly pound the street, a snarling blood hound from  _ literal Hell _ right on his tail. He passes tons of people, all of them unaware of the ghost’s ticking clock as Tony races through the streets.

Blank gazes, lack of attention, danger on his heels… 

He’s alone again.

Tony feels his breaths coming in shorter and shorter. His fear is being amplified by the ghostly survival instincts that are threatening to release the dark madness contained in his nanotech housing unit. Tony desperately tries to get ahold of himself as the cold wave of tempting power runs through his body.

He can’t become a poltergeist.

Not with a hundred New Yorkers standing by, unaware and pitifully vulnerable.

He hears the hound lunging behind him with a snarl. Tony is wracked by excruciating pain as he feels the sinking of its teeth into his back. He screams as the dog tightens its jaws into him and forces him into the ground. Teeth are melting into him, his ghostly energy is being molten, and Tony struggles to wrench himself free from the jaws of a hound. It feels like his back is on fire, being burned alive by the hound’s corrosive mass dripping onto him.

_ I need to get free—! _

He barely hears the rampaging footsteps of the rest of the pack before they all descend on him like a horde of ravenous beasts. There are claws digging into his skin, muzzles snapping over each other as they fight over who gets to have the first bite. The first hound that dragged him down sinks his teeth into Tony again, this time at the back of his neck. Tony hisses in pain, vainly trying to punch and kick his way out of the pack, but with each hit, his limbs burn with acid.

As all his efforts at escape fail, the horrific thought makes its way to his mind.

_ I’m going to die. _

The black mass starts to bubble out of his chest. As his mind starts to fall under the dark haze, Tony sees the passing feet of civilians in his peripheral, half of some who were recently brought back to life. There’s a girl who looks a lot like Morgan walking past him, pointing at the toy shop a few blocks away.

_ No, no, no, no! _

Tony slams a hand over the housing unit and tries to contain the evil’s spread. The mass slows for a second, as if hesitating, but the constant sounds of snapping and the burning stings of pain running up and down his back slowly restart the mass’s progress. Tony’s mind starts to drop down deeper into the murky waters, dragging him under and seeping the strength from his limbs as the darkness starts to take control.

The pain from the hell hounds is joined by another, more familiar pain of magic. The rune! Tony grunts as the evil mass shrinks away, crawling back into the housing unit, but never fully retreating. The hounds are still fighting, but it seems that the first hound had been decided as the victor. Tony feels its hot breath on its neck as it closes its massive jaws around him. His hopes, which had been empowered slightly by the rune’s activation, were quickly dashed as Tony doesn’t hear the familiar sound of the sorcerer’s portal. It’s then that the heavy realization falls onto him.

_ Stephen can’t find me. _

The jaws snap close around his neck. Tony’s vision blinks out at the pain. He thinks he hears the sound of his neck cracking. But before he could surrender to the mercy of an unconscious death, he hears the echo of a woman’s unearthly voice carry itself through his mind.

**_“Begone, you filthy cretins of Hell.”_ **

* * *

 

Tony wakes up in the Sanctum.

His back is throbbing, a huge, demanding ache that’s constantly calling for his attention as Tony tries to pry his eyes open. It’s pain, pain everywhere, weighing him down like a metal straightjacket. As Tony finally manages to get his eyelids to open, he is met by the familiar wooden ceiling of the guest room he had taken up in the Sanctum. Blinking harshly from the light streaming in through the window, Tony tries to recall what happened.

Ah, that’s right.

Hell hounds.

Tony groans as he tries to sit up. The moment he creaks a single centimeter on the bed, the pain flairs up and down his spine, sending electrocuting crackles of hurt running down to his toes. Tony falls limp onto his bed, trying to contain his whimper. 

“Fucking hell,” Tony hisses as the intensity of the flair dies down. “Those dogs fucking  _ bite. _ ”

**“I would hope so, for they are the loyal pets of Hell’s leader.”**

Tony tenses, ignoring the pain raking through his body at the action. Slowly, he turns his head to the side. He is greeted by the sight of a floating figure in dark, tattered robes, the thinly layered cloth billowing about what seems to be...a talking skeleton? 

Which is looking right at him. With empty eye sockets.

Tony feels fear press into him once again. The skull of the mystical being tilts sideways, as if expressing curiosity at his reaction. The being raises its hands, small, delicately connected bones crinkling with each movement.

**“There is no reason for you to fear me, Anthony Edward Stark,”** the skeleton being—a woman?—says. Tony doesn’t move his wide-eyed gaze from her.

“Who—What the fuck are you?” Tony stammers, internally cursing the crack in his voice. The skull straightens. Despite the lack of eyes, Tony can’t help but fear the sheer darkness in those eye sockets are piercing him through the bone.

**“I am referred to as Lady Death,”** the skeleton replies. Tony giggles hysterically, digging his nails into his hair.

“Okay, okay,” Tony whispers to himself, sinking back into his pillows. “So  _ I’m  _ hallucinating now. Great. It’s just like me to make the image of the Grim Reaper a woman in my mind.”

A particularly nasty blast of wind flows out of Lady Death’s cloak. Tony shivers from the chill, feeling the aching pain from the dog bites turn into ice. He can’t tell how he knows, but the air seems to weigh down a bit more from the skeleton’s seething anger.

**“I refuse to play wits with you, human,”** Lady Death growls, the tattered cloth on her body bristling angrily. Tony shrinks into himself.  **“In fact, I would have never interfered with Mephisto’s dogs to save a mortal under normal circumstances.”**

“Wait….” Tony runs the sentence back through his mind. “ _ You _ saved me?” Tony asks hesitantly, scrutinizing the stranger. Why would a deathly-looking being like her save  _ him? _

Lady Death ignores him.

**“I will only extend this mercy to you once, Tony Stark,”** Lady Death says, clasping her fingers together.  **“I’d hate to allow Mephisto to get his hands on the dangerous knowledge in your mind.”**

“What?”

**“Your invention of artificial time travel. One which does not require the usage of the Time Stone. And one that does not tear into the fabrics of our reality for it weaves around the laws of nature.”**

Tony feels dread weigh in his chest.

“That’s why Mephisto sent those dogs to attack me?” Tony asks quietly, fear of the unknown being in front of him forgotten. “He wants to know how I did it?”

**“Many powerful beings spanning different dimensions are eager to know how you managed to artificially recreate the effects of one of the Infinity Stones,”** Lady Death replies neutrally. Tony finds himself startled once again as the bone structure of her skull  _ melts _ to form a frown.  **“I look forward to your passing, as a result. Your mind is something that must be kept away from the greedy hands of those filth.”**

Tony feels cold. He remembers seeing 2014 Thanos’ spaceship looming in the sky above the Avengers Compound, taking advantage of Nebula’s copy and Tony’s time machine to wreak more havoc in the future.

Recreating the effects of an Infinity Stone.

Tony never thought about it like that. He shivers. He can’t imagine what would happen if someone worse than Thanos had gotten wind of his time travel machine. As he falls out of his contemplative haze, Tony remembers Lady Death is still there, floating quietly. With this newfound realization in mind, he feels himself shrink inward as he watches the being warily.

“And where do  _ you _ fall on this mad craze to become the next time lord?” Tony asks cautiously. Lady Death tips her head slightly to the side.

**“I want you gone before any of them get their hands on you.”**

Tony feels a chill settle in his bones. 

“You want me gone?” he repeats, narrowing his eyes. “I have a way to throw you anywhere you want in time, knowledge that rivals an Infinity Stone, and you want me gone?”

Lady Death sighs at him.

**“I have no need or desire for the powers of any of the Infinity Stones,”** she tells him. Her tattered shadow cloak suddenly bristles as she speaks her next words.  **“I only wish for the balance of life and death to be satisfactory.** **_By my own doing_ ** **.”**

There was a biting tone to her last words. Tony, however, can’t decipher it. Instead, the ghost clears his throat and squares up his shoulders as much as he can.

“So, are you going to kill me?” Tony asks, raising his chin defiantly. Lady Death narrows her eye sockets at him.

The sound of low, rumbling laughter comes from her chest.

**“Oh, how fearful mortals are of the inevitable,”** Lady Death sneers. Tony bristles as she continues to mock him.  **“So fearful, that the sacrifice of one’s life is considered the greatest heroic act in contribution to the betterment of your society. When in reality, it is merely facing your greatest fear.”**

“I’m not afraid of you,” Tony growls, giving her his most menacing glower. Lady Death floats closer, bending down so her icy breath falls over Tony face.

She smiles.

**“Aren’t you?”**

Suddenly, vivid memories start to soar through Tony’s mind.

A convoy attacked. A familiar bomb with his company emblazoned on the side. A dark and humid cave. A car battery attached to metal in his chest. A leering face of betrayal holding the light that prolonged his existence. Gunshots, lasers, blades, metal.

A wormhole over New York. A heavy nuke on his back. The never-ending void of space. A massive spaceship in the distance. The weightlessness of zero gravity.

Whispers and nightmares. An obsessive building splurge of Iron Man suits. A crumbling mansion. A torrential ocean. A snowy wasteland. Fire running through human bodies. 

A flying donut. A red planet. A mad titan. A falling moon. Ashes, ashes,  _ ashes _ .

A fallen Compound. An alien war fleet. Golden armor. Red gauntlet. Six stones. A single finger. One choice. One chance.

Snapping fingers.

_ I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t—! _

Lady Death hearty chuckles pull Tony out of his episode. With a beat, he realizes he’s breathing quickly, sucking in short and gasping breaths that aren’t enough to fill his nonexistent lungs. His hands are clammy, and his chest feels tight, and—

**“Tony Stark,”** Lady Death coos gently, trailing a cold, bony finger down his face. Tony flinches, still in the throes of his panic attack— 

— _ haunted by nightmares, haunted by kills, haunted, haunted— _

The personification of death sneers toothily at him, her exposed teeth growing bigger with the stretch of her jaw.  **“Why so scared?”** she drawls, watching as Tony starts to whimper and wheeze.  **“You’re already** **_dead_ ** **.”**

The door slams open. Tony’s eyes whip to Stephen Strange standing in the doorway, golden shields out and ready with the Cloak of Levitation bristling angrily behind him. However, his face is twisted in an unexpected expression of surprise and wariness at the sight of Lady Death hovering over Tony’s form.

“Who the hell—?” Stephen starts, but Lady Death casually flicks a hand in the sorcerer’s direction. Tony lets out a strangled shout in horror as Stephen’s body twists unnaturally, the loud cracks echoing in the room. The Sorcerer Supreme falls to the floor disgracefully, the Cloak flying off of his body and rushing for the floating being of death. Lady Death merely swats the Cloak away, her touch freezing it in place before it falls limply to the ground like a red curtain.

Tony struggles to breathe, hyperventilating as he stares at one of the most powerful people he’s met lays deathly still.

“You—You fucking killed him?” Tony manages to squeak past the tightness in his chest. Lady Death sighs.

**“No. I simply suspended him in limbo. The Sorcerer Supreme will wake up on his own. Eventually.”**

_ Just from one wave of her hand. _

“What do you want?” Tony croaks, shakily shifting his eyes to the figure at his bedside. Lady Death smiles indulgently at him. She reaches out, her jagged, elongated finger bones touching his forehead. In almost an instant, Tony feels the fear gripping his entire being disappear, leaving him gasping for air and oddly weightless. As his mind clear, he notices movement on his chest and looks down.

He pales. The black mass that had apparently started to crawl over his chest and encase his abdomen is obediently falling back into the housing unit.

**“I want nothing from you,”** she tells him, making Tony jump as his attention snaps to her. The skeleton gestures to his ghostly body.  **“In fact, the situation you’re in? It’s a gift from me.”**

Tony still clings to the last tendrils of his retreating fear as he struggles to comprehend.

“The...situation?” he prompts hesitantly.

**“Your continuing presence as a ghost,”** Lady Death explains, amusement coloring her voice.  **“That was my doing. I tied you here, to the land of the living.”**

“Wait,” Tony mutters, frowning at her. He thinks back to his first memory as a ghost, spinning wildly in the air above the ruined Compound. “ _ You  _ put me here?”

**“Indeed. Think of it as a reward.”**

“For what?” Tony asks dryly, malice starting to seep back into him. “Saving the universe?”

**“Not quite, though that was a factor. It was a gift for reversing Thanos’ deeds, while at the same time becoming the embodiment of a fulfilling punishment for the Mad Titan.”**

“So, you’re just happy we killed him and set the universe back to normal?”

**“Don’t be full of yourself. Death is a mercy. I’ve given him a more...appropriate sentence.”**

Tony hates how this woman is constantly giving him chills.

“So, this ‘gift’ of yours,” Tony begins, stomping out his intimidation. He shifts into a more alert position on the bed, aware of the amusement radiating from Lady Death. “You think it’s a reward for me to watch my family and friends suffer and not being able to do anything about it?”

**“Oh, no. Remaining as a spirit is one of the worst ways a soul can go,”** Lady Death replies. There was a strange nature to her smile as she said that sentence.  **“No. Your gift is the chance to pass on with all of your loose ends tied up.”**

Before Tony could even process that cryptic statement, Lady Death rises and floats back to her corner. A swirl of darkness forms in front of her, creating a smoky gateway into another realm. The very sight of it gives Tony the goosebumps. Before she floats through it, Lady Death pauses and turns back, pinning Tony with her stare.

**“Although I have given you this second chance as a gift, I will not hesitate to take it away,”** she warns dangerously. Tony tenses as the air around him chills.  **“Your mind is a dangerous weapon, Tony Stark. Keep it out of the hands of beings like Mephisto, and you will be allowed to carry on.”**

Lady Death’s aura suddenly drops, the air in the room turning frigid and cold. Tony unconsciously presses back into the bed as she opens her jaws to continue, a cold bite to her tone that leaves no room for argument. 

**“However, the second you fall victim to a dimensional entity, I will not hesitate to** **_kill_ ** **you for the sake of preserving my order over the realm of death.”**

With that, Lady Death steps through her smoky gateway and disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> Yeah, I know, technically I’m putting this chapter out on a Sunday (it’s literally 12:56 am right now) but oof. Usually, my updates come within the early morning timeframe anyway.
> 
> There’s a lot going on in this chapter. But let me tell y’all how much of a pain writing this chapter out was. It just wouldn’t write. The stuff I wrote didn’t come together cohesively, and it frustrated me to no end. I’ve tried to smooth it out as much as I could, but wow. This was just a weird ass thing to write.
> 
> So, the contents of the chapter. I lurked around the Marvel wiki for comic villains/ideas to put into this story back when I first started hammering it out. Lady Death was an interesting entity. She has interesting motivations. There are things in her part of this chapter that are hints to this long-ass oneshot set in this AU that I’m planning on writing once I finish this fic. But it’s not something you really need to focus on. (I mean, seriously, I put up the first chapter of this fic in May. And we’re still at 9 chapters. God, I think this’ll be completed in freaking December. Why do I write so much?)  
> There’s a bit more insight into why Tony’s stuck on earth. Some of you have already noticed, but Tony is actually really okay with his death. He would’ve passed on fine if Lady Death hadn’t intervened. So why did she? And what exactly is tethering him down?
> 
> Lady Death doesn’t give a fuck about human emotions, by the way.
> 
> So, next chapter will be out on the 31st! Hell, maybe the 1st of September. I’ll be going back to college, though, so things might get a little tight over here on my end. But I’ll make it work!
> 
> See you until then!


	10. He Who Must Move On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slight mention of "suicide". To avoid it, STOP at "I need to move on" and CONTINUE at the paragraph with the next mention of Lady Death. Also SKIP the long 2nd paragraph of the A/N end note.

When Stephen wakes up, he feels the phantom aches of what should have been his death. Upon remembering the strange sight of an undetected presence in Tony’s bedroom, his eyes shoot open and he sits straight up, incurring an angry bout of dizziness. Stephen grips his head, nauseous.

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Ooh, the doctor’s awake. You need some shit to fix that hangover?”

Stephen peeks out of his eyelids in surprise.

“Tony?”

Tony mockingly waves at him. Stephen frowns. The lines around the other man’s eyes are tight. Stephen sits up on the bed, immediately going into doctor mode.

“What happened? How—?”

“You know, you got whammied pretty hard there,” Tony grunts. Stephen takes a minute to take in his surroundings, taking in the wicker chair he’s slumped in. The dull red of the Cloak catches his eyes, and Stephen finds it slouched on the bedside chair. It’s strangely lethargic, drooping tiredly over the armrest. Stephen reaches out to poke it, and the Cloak swats his prodding hand away.

“What the hell?” Stephen mutters.

“Miss Deadly took the flying carpet out with a single touch,” Tony explains, deceptively calm. Stephen turns to look at the ghost. Tony is staring straight up at the ceiling, face blank and hands clasped atop his stomach. The tenseness of his shoulders indicate that he’s still in pain. 

“Miss who? Wait, first of all, how the hell did you get inside?” Stephen exclaims. That makes Tony turn to him in surprise. “I was trying to find you after the rune activated, but when I finally found Parker, you weren’t with him. And how can you show up here without the Sanctum alerting me?”

“I thought you knew something was up in this room?”

“Only when you started polterizing again. The Sanctum’s defensive spells alerted me to the presence of a poltergeist’s energy.”

Tony presses his lips together.

“Then you might want to beef up your security,” he tells Stephen. “Because that means Lady Death can easily fly under your radars.”

Stephen shivers. He remembers the eerie sight of tattered robes with a smoke-like essence billowing in the corner of the same room, somehow striking fear into his very core despite him knowing nothing about the intruding entity. A familiar instinctual fear, one he had become increasingly buddy-buddy with while going through thousands of time loops in the Dark Dimension.

_ Dying over and over and over and over— _

Stephen quickly places his focus on Tony. The ghost is strangely quiet, yet the sorcerer can easily see the minute tremors in his intangible body. There’s a familiar glaze to Tony’s eyes that Stephen was all too familiar with during his time working in the trauma medical field.

“What’s wrong?” Stephen asks quietly. Tony shrinks into the blankets and averts his eyes.

“None of your business. I can handle it,” Tony mutters. Stephen frowns at the back of Tony’s head. It’s obvious that the other man was not okay. But Stephen isn’t a mind reader, so he can’t even begin to guess what is causing the fear to cling to him—

_ Dying over and over and  _ **_over—_ **

“That being’s presence has an astoundingly powerful influence on the psyche of those around her,” Stephen concludes hurriedly, turning his gaze to the Cloak thrown haphazardly over the armchair. His voice betrayed him, cracking a little. Tony looks back at him and searches for something in his expression, and Stephen knows he found it by the way Tony sits back a little. He hates himself a little for it. “I believe her energy is still somehow lingering in this room.”

“ _ Or _ we’re struggling to come to terms with how powerless we are.”

Stephen pauses.

“Alright, that’s it. Get out,” Stephen barks, throwing back the covers. Tony immediately curls into himself, making high-pitched whining sounds. “I can’t help you with your self-pity, so we’re going to do the cop-out option and distract ourselves from whatever the hell just happened.”

“‘Distract’? Then it should be you getting  _ into _ the bed, doctor.”

“ _ Tony— _ !”

At that moment, the door opens. Both Stephen and Tony look up to find Wong standing in the doorway, pausing as he took in the sight.

“....Did I hear that right?” the librarian manages to say after a moment, his politely neutral expression plastered on his face. Tony turns to Stephen with a leering grin.

“Aww,  _ babe _ , did you really say sorry and make up with Wong for me?” Tony coos, fear gone and replaced with a mischievous glint. Stephen shoves him, but immediately regrets it when Tony hisses and scrunches his face in pain.

“You’re hurt? How?” the sorcerer asks, resolutely pushing down the “sorry” that threatened to come out of his mouth. Tony takes a second to ride the pain out before answering.

“Mephisto’s Hellhounds,” he grits out. Wong tenses and takes a few steps into the room.

“They might have infected you with the corrosive substances of Hell’s dimension. We need to look you over—”

Tony flinches when Wong crosses an invisible line. Before Stephen can react, Wong quickly steps back and puts himself into a relaxed, unthreatening stance.

“—and destroy whatever foreign remnants the Hellhounds left on you,” Wong continues without missing a beat. Stephen watches in awe as the veteran sorcerer carries on casually, dark eyes sharply observing Tony’s state. “Hell’s very energies are seeped in negativity. Even housing one molecule on your form could encourage the growth of evil in your mind.”

Tony smiles sharply, eyes dark as he watches Wong from the head of the bed.

“Wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” Tony snipes. Wong’s lips twitch.

“No. We wouldn’t.”

* * *

 

Stephen and Tony are sitting across each other in the Sanctum’s quiet meditation room. Golden mists of Stephen’s magic float ethereal-like around Tony’s form as he stares into the wooden planks and straw mats beneath him, quiet. Stephen, on the other hand, is holding his hands in the air, eyes closed as he tries to concentrate on singling out the trademark hostile energy of Hell on the ghost’s body and destroying it.

But all he can think about is how the easy friendship he saw between Wong and Tony that first day in the Sanctum was all but nonexistent now.

“Is this spiritual cleansing session supposed to last this long, or are you intentionally making me wait?”

Stephen sighs. The golden mists fluttering around Tony immediately dissipate with his break in concentration. Stephen opens his eyes and scowls at Tony, who is giving him an equally displeased expression in return.

“Spiritual cleansings take a lot of time, effort, and concentration,” Stephen explains, shaking out his tired arms. He glances to the door, where Wong was no doubt getting impatient with how long he was taking. “And since you are in essence completely made of spiritual energy, it’s rather hard to separate Hell’s remnants when at their base, they are exactly the same.”

“So you’re calling me a demon?”

“No. Now shut up so we can finish this up.”

“You’re definitely taking a lot of time and effort, but where’s your concentration Dumbledore?”

“You broke it.”

Tony smiles indulgently at him. Stephen feels slightly uncomfortable at how dead it seemed, despite knowing the sarcasm behind it.

“No, you don’t have it. Do you know how many times I tried messing with you while you were meditating? When you were really into it, you didn’t move no matter what I did to you.”

Stephen blinks.

“What the hell were you doing to me while I was meditating?” Stephen cries in a scandalized tone. Tony smirks.

“A ghost never tells.”

“ _ Tony _ .”

Tony doesn’t even bother engaging with the customary ribbing, giving him a pointed look. Stephen sighs. He’s feeling increasingly out of his element.

“Wong won’t hurt you. We’ve come to an agreement,” Stephen starts out. Tony doesn’t bat an eye at him.

“Alright.”

“I thought you were okay with it?”

“I will be. It was just...not a good time.”

“If you don’t want Wong here—”

“Stephen, it’s  _ you _ who’s not getting me right now,” Tony cuts in, making Stephen pause. The ghost presses his lips together. “Wong and I got to know each other for 5 years. That’s a lot longer than the amount of time you spent with me. He knew I needed the space for a bit, after  _ that  _ encounter. Once we’re done, I’ll be okay.”

“But—”

“You know, you’re awfully composed for someone whose spine and neck got cracked into pieces from a wave of a hand,” Tony continues nonchalantly. Stephen tenses, and Tony lifts his gaze to him, narrowing his eyes. He’s watching Stephen closely, and Stephen doesn’t like the intensity of his gaze on him. “But that’s reasonable, considering you know how to turn off certain parts of your mind as a doctor.”

Stephen doesn’t say anything.

“So what did you see, Sorcerer Supreme?” Tony asks languidly, stretching out his legs before him. He’s resolutely keeping his eyes on the mat, but the ghost’s voice stays steady. “You and I both know that Deadly Skelly forces you into an LSD trip on ‘Every Moment Your Life Flashed Before Your Eyes’. You see anything?”

_ Dying over and over and over— _

Stephen shakes his head violently, gritting his teeth. Tony is undeterred.

“Locking things up. You gotta air out your blankets before the water spills over, Doctor Know-It-All.”

“Do you always play Good Samaritan to feel important?”

Tony’s expression closes. Stephen presses his lips together.

“...sorry.”

Tony’s tight eyes blink a few times at him.

“You and I are way too similar,” Tony settles. Stephen turns his eyes away.

“....Dormammu.”

“What?”

“That’s the LSD trip I was taking,” Stephen elaborates, feeling himself shrink further into his shell. “Time loops with Dormammu. Bargaining his freedom from 10 seconds of existence for the safety of Earth.”

Tony stares at him for a while.

“I take it he’s not a very diplomatic being?”

“No. Quite the opposite. He can kill with a single thought.”

“Oh. Must’ve been quite the ride.”

Stephen curls his lips. Tony immediately steps down.

“Mine was all the shit I went through as Iron Man,” Tony concedes. The billionaire shrugs as he settles back into a cross-legged position again. “I guess since I don’t have magical immunities or whatever, I wasn’t able to fight her off.”

Stephen thinks about the other scars from the Time Stone that he bears, the ones that would’ve sent him into a state of hair-trigger fear much like Tony’s had he not been so accustomed to avoiding emotional distractions.

_ —A Titan’s hands snapping his neck, a galaxy-wide genocide in retaliation for hiding the Stone, holding Peter tightly as they’re both pierced by a long spear— _

“Let’s get back to business.”

* * *

 

“Lady Death is one of the oldest beings in our universe,” Wong recites as he hands them both a cup of tea. Tony stares interestedly at the pretty blue liquid in his haunted tea cup, drawing him into itself. “It is believed that she was conceived by the universe as the heralder of the bridge between life and death. Despite what you might think, she isn’t one who can feel ‘desire’. Her inherent purpose is to keep the balance of the natural universe through maintaining the ratios of living and dead. In crueler terms, she is a tool of the universe. One who is extremely powerful and would not stray from her existential duty, as she is physically and mentally incapable of it.”

“A cosmic being, then,” Stephen replies. Tony glances at the sorcerer, who had fallen quickly back into his persona as the “no funny business” guy. The sorcerer ignores his cup in favor of checking over the Cloak, which was still recovering whatever life it’s supposed to have. “Here to ensure the balance of the universe. And she’s interested in the ghost of Tony Stark.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea why, either.”

“It’s because of the machine I made for the Time Heist,” Tony explains. Both sorcerers turn to him, and Tony concentrates on stirring his tea. “I literally invented something that can mimic certain powers of the Time Stone. That’s why I’m dangerous.”

“Because you can invent? But you’re dead.”

“I can still rebuild it. My mind’s intact. And the blueprints are all up here.” Tony taps his head, mellowing as he recalls the numerous times his intellect proved to be a weapon of war. “Knowledge is power. And people want it. Or rather, power-grabbing babies like that Mephisto guy.”

“Shit. Why haven’t we realized that?” Wong asks Stephen. Stephen sighs.

“We focused too much on the dangers of a poltergeist, that we forgot to consider the dangers of a mind from the past,” Stephen tells him. Tony balks.

“Are you calling me archaic?”

“I’m calling you a legacy.”

“Oh. Well, that’s sweet of you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Stephen sits back in his chair, pondering. “Now that Lady Death has raised the case, I’m seeing a lot more things that can go wrong. Are ghosts susceptible to mind control?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Wong responds, looking troubled as he takes his own seat at the library table. “No one has ever tried to mind control a ghost.”

“Wanda could sense my mind,” Tony realizes. “Her powers originated from the Mind Stone. If she can sense my thoughts, then she can influence them. So it’s safe to say that if you know anyone who can make a mindless slave out of someone, it’s better if you keep them away from me.”

“I can’t create mental defenses for you,” Stephen branches off. “The rune needs access to your mind to sense the conversion into a poltergeist. There’d already be a weak point in the shields because of it.”

“Then it’s a good thing that Stark’s existence was kept a secret,” Wong says. Aside from the Masters and Mephisto, we’re the only ones who know.”

“Mephisto’s become a much larger problem, then,” Stephen muses.

Tony watches as the sorcerers toss the conversation back and forth. His heart feels a little heavy at the assumption that Tony is worth keeping around as a ghost despite all the negatives associated with his existence. He can see Stephen glancing at him occasionally, no doubt wondering why Tony was feeling so down as they were discussing solutions. 

_ Why am I here? _

**_“Your gift is the chance to pass on with all of your loose ends tied up.”_ **

“I need to move on.”

Stephen and Wong immediately halt their conversation, turning to look at Tony with indecipherable expressions. Tony watches as Stephen takes in the resoluteness of his expression, eyes pinching as he takes in the somberness of that statement.

“I hope you’re not telling us to kill you,” Stephen deadpans. Tony sees Wong flinch and draw back into his seat out of the corner of his eye. Stepping back from Stephen’s circle. It’s then that Tony realizes that this might still be a very touchy topic with the doctor.

_ Doctor. _

“What’s your stance on assisted suicide?” Tony tries hesitantly. Stephen’s expression immediately turns cold.

“No.”

“But—”

“ _ No _ .”

“Ste—”

“Stark, don’t even try,” Wong cuts in. Tony holds Stephen’s icy glare for one uncomfortable moment before turning to meet Wong’s eyes. “You’re passing naturally, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t have a choice?”

“No.” Stephen’s voice is cutting and sharp. Tony worriedly wonders exactly what kind of line he passed just then. “No. You don’t.”

“Okay…” Tony trails off, forcing his mind to bring itself back to the problem.  _ I have to look at this a different way. _ “Lady Death said something about how my haunting is supposed to be a gift for me. I get the chance to pass on with all my loose ends tied up. Does that mean I get to watch Morgan grow up?”

“Lady Death wouldn’t extend that generous a gift,” Wong disagrees. Stephen sits back in his chair, finally taking his glare off of Tony as he crosses his arms and stares at a bookshelf. The Cloak weakly flies over and drapes itself over his body like a blanket. “You’re not meant to be here for long. She wants to keep the divide between life and death as clear as possible.”

“So what exactly do I need to wait for?”

“Peter.” Tony and Wong turn to Stephen, wearing a contemplative frown on his face. “Peter’s your Obsession. He’s your last regret before you died.”

“Eh, I wasn’t exactly feeling regretful when I died.”

“No, long term regret.” Tony frowns as Stephen continues. “Five years after the Snap. What was your one biggest regret the entire time you were raising your family?”

“Not killing Thanos.”

“No.”

“....Not saving Peter.”

“There we go.” Tony snorts. Stephen continues, taking no notice of him. “A regret that lasted five years doesn’t go away immediately after you get them back. It engrains itself into you.”

“So what, do I need to just convince myself that Peter’s back to the land of the living, alive and well?” Tony asks. Stephen and Wong sigh at the same time.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t even be here,” Wong mutters. Tony rolls his eyes at their tired forms.

“Well, looks like the classic ‘ghost reconciles with his one life regret’ trope won’t work here,” he quips. Stephen ignores him as he takes a sip of his tea.

“There’s something we’re missing,” Stephen muses. “This is an unprecedented situation. Lady Death made Tony a ghost, despite how he would have passed on perfectly fine on his own. Why would she tie him down to Earth if he died with no regrets?  _ How  _ would she tie him down?”

“She could easily block his passage into the afterlife,” Wong offers, but Stephen shakes his head.

“Tony wouldn’t have become a ghost if that was the case,” the sorcerer argues. “He would have become a thoughtless entity uselessly existing in the universe. Something has to anchor a ghost in order to retain a resemblance of their former humanity.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony interrupts, mind spinning at all the ghost lore the sorcerers’ were throwing around. “I thought Pete was my Obsession? Isn’t he supposed to be my anchor?”

“But there’s no _strong_ _emotion_ tied to him,” Stephen emphasizes, waving his arms impatiently. “You don’t _need_ to see how he’s doing. You don’t _need_ to be around him. You don’t _need_ him.” Stephen holds up the hand with the golden rune engraved in his palm, tapping the sigil meaningfully as he stares at Tony. “In regards to Peter Parker, all you’ve felt is relief, happiness, pity, sadness, and worry. And none of those emotions were of the toxic nature associated with a haunting.”

It dawns on Wong.

“An emotional tie,” Wong realizes, whirling around to fix Tony with an incredulous look. “ _ That’s _ why your behavior is inconsistent with that of other ghosts. You have no toxic emotional tie to Spider-Man.”

Tony wrinkles his nose.

“Well, that’s a relief?” Tony jokes, confused. Stephen shakes his head.

“No, it’s not, because if  _ you _ aren’t the one tying yourself to this Earth, then who is?” Stephen abruptly stands up from the table and starts pacing, the Cloak falling off before quickly latching onto his shoulders. “We’re going about this all wrong. It’s someone  _ else _ . Someone else’s regrets that are tying you here. That’s how Lady Death was able to turn you into a ghost. She used someone else’s emotional tie to you as the tethering point for your existence. You’re a completely different kind of ghost. One kept here because someone you left behind couldn’t let go.”

Tony feels himself go cold.

“Peter. She used Peter.”

Stephen stops in the middle of his pacing and fixes Tony with a serious stare.

“It’s not  _ you _ who needs to move on. It’s Peter.”

Tony feels a chill run down his spine.

“And what happens if he can’t?” Tony asks him. Tony’s mind immediately starts to race through all of his encounters with Peter. The shorter temper, the colder spirit, the heated confrontations. “What the hell did Lady Death do to my kid?”

Stephen presses his lips together. Discomfort rages in his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

* * *

 

Lady Death watches from a distance as Spider-Man furiously knocks a mobster with a gun off the roof of a skyscraper. She observes quietly as Peter Parker clenches his fists and turns to swing away before pausing. Peter Parker turns back to the edge of the roof in a panic, taking a running leap off the building as he dives down to save the man he had pushed off.

Lady Death opens the worn tome in her hands, the pages automatically flipping to the correct page. On the page, the words and numbers below the latest confirmed death flicker and twist. Names and dates, flitting in and out at the universe’s discretion, changed constantly by the actions and choices of mortals.

**_It is funny,_ ** she thinks as she glances back to the scene before her.  **_How some of the weakest beings in the universe have the greatest influence over life and death._ **

Spider-Man is soaring rapidly downwards, but the mobster is falling too quickly for him. Lady Death turns back to her tome and watches as a line forms beneath the last entry, fighting to solidify as the threads of the universe tug the strings of her Book of Deaths.

_ Josiah Marshall. Date of Death: 05/24/20XX. Cause of Death: to be determined _

Spider-Man launches a web from his wrist. Lady Death watches as the realization of his mistake falls across the heroes’ lenses far too late as the mobster’s body unnaturally bends. The crack of the man’s spine is audible in the silence of the tallest buildings. Lady Death can hear the screams of some of the spectating office workers from behind the glass windows. She turns back to her book, where the cause of death finally solidifies.

_ Cause of Death: Terminal Velocity _

_ Notes: Genetically-altered human Peter Parker was negatively influenced by the stress and supernatural effects caused from the unnatural presence of his mentor, Tony Stark, who remains on his planet as a ghost by the actions of Lady Death. It is recommended that Tony Stark be untethered from Peter Parker immediately in order to ensure the actions of mortal beings are unaltered by the cosmic forces of the universe. _

Lady Death smiles at the tome. In front of her, Spider-Man was dragging Josiah up to his perch on the walls of the skyscraper, flinching at the banging fists on the window and hysterical screaming behind the glass. She can sense the beginnings of a festering evil in the young boy, who trembles as he finally holds the fresh corpse to his chest.

Lady Death closes her tome.

**“Your time is ticking, Tony Stark.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just occurred to me that the tags on this story don’t quite capture the darkness I’m writing. I gotta update that.
> 
> The assisted suicide moment? Stephen’s “no” isn’t necessarily a no to assisted suicide. Actually, I don’t know what he would think of it. And I’m going to say we won’t ever know. But the reason why he’s saying no is because Tony being a dangerous entity/asset isn’t a viable reason for assisted suicide. After all, assisted suicide is only considered if a patient’s quality of life drops so heavily that the prospect of death being better becomes an option.
> 
> I should probably steer a little clearer of moral codes in the field of medicine, though. I’m not well-versed in it, and I might step on something I don’t understand.
> 
> I don't read the comics, but I do see some panels floating around the internet here and there. I saw the stuff about Spider-Man accidentally snapping Gwen Stacy's neck or something a long while back and it just surprised me. The comics seems really dark, lol.
> 
> The whole realization that Peter is the problem was supposed to happen toward the end of the story. But while I was writing the last few chapters, I just kept thinking to myself, “These characters aren’t dumb.” So here’s the realization.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter than usual because real life has gone from 0-100. If I cut my chapters down to less than 15 pages, that’s a load of stress gone. And I need that now.
> 
> As a result, I don’t actually know how many chapters this fic will turn out to be. I split what should’ve been the 10th chapter into two parts, so the 21 chapters might just turn into 22. But with the whole lifestyle change and all, it may vary.
> 
> Again, sorry for the wait! (Well, not really, real life is important and I can’t neglect that.) Since I’ll be battling college classes all week, please expect some delays or drops in my writing quality. But I will try my best otherwise!
> 
> See you again in 2 weeks!


	11. Peter Parker, Spider-Man

Peter is staring at the carpet stain a few inches from his feet. It’s an interesting stain. If he looked at it by tilting his head to the right, it looked like a budding flower. If he looked at it by tilting his head to the left, it looked like dried brambles.

He’s seated on the living room couch. In front of him, May is standing on the other side of the coffee table, expression pulled into that “I’m not sure what to do with you” look. She’s been looking at Peter like that a lot recently. In the past, there were only a few instances of that look. Mostly when Peter was moonlighting secretly as Spider-Man, too eager to earn praise from Tony that he let the rest of his life self-destruct.

But after the Vulture and that Avenger’s test, May stopped looking at Peter like a puzzle. Mostly because Tony had stepped up to the plate and was managing Peter’s superhero life, establishing firm limits and shooting down toxic behaviors before they could even begin to worry May. And May was ever so grateful to the man for keeping Peter safe and down-to-earth.

But only so long as Tony was alive.

Peter grips the couch cushions with his gloved hands. His eyes flicker to the Spider-Man mask on his lap. The white lenses stare back at him. 

Pleading. Demanding. Angry.

_—Pounding fists on glass windows. The silence of the wind tearing around steel structures touching the sky. A limp body handing from a single white thread like a noose—_

Peter looks away from the mask and turns his attention back to the carpet stain.

Ever since he got home, dodging the helicopters, police cruisers, and news crews screaming for his attention, the Parker household had descended into an ominous quiet. May had greeted him at the door with a blank face, the TV playing in the background with the words “Breaking News” emblazoned at the bottom and helicopter footage hovering around the skyscraper. Neither Parker talked to each other as Peter trudged into the apartment and sat heavily on the couch, with May going into the kitchen to make some tea.

Peter glances at the teacup now. The brown trail stemming from the crack he had caused when he grabbed the handle too roughly is slowing to a trickle. Peter averts his gaze once again, dull eyes falling to his red gloved hands.

Red. Red. Red. Red.

“I don’t know what to say to you right now.”

Peter looks up. May is still standing in the exact same spot she had been when she handed him the tea. Her arms are crossed, her pajamas too big but comfy around her frame. Her prescription glasses are perched low on her nose, but she doesn’t move to adjust them as she stares at Peter.

Her expression is hard to read. Peter knows there are many thoughts flitting through her head right now, but they must have dulled when she saw the news. This time, Peter doesn’t shy away from the confrontation, looking up at his aunt with resignation.

May stares at him a little longer.

“...I got a call from the school sometime in the morning,” May begins. She doesn’t let her eyes leave her nephew, watching his slackened expression for the minute twitches she’s learned to read. “The principal tells me you had a fight with Ned in the middle of PE.”

Peter stays silent. May presses her lips together.

“You yelled obscenities to your principal, then crashed out the front doors to ditch school. And now you’ve been suspended. For a week.”

Peter says nothing. May’s fingers curl into themselves for a moment before relaxing.

“I’d assume you’d go back home after a few hours of patrol. But instead, the neighbors tell me they haven’t seen you. I wait until your curfew. You still haven’t shown up. And by this time, I’m worried that someone may have gotten you.”

Peter’s gaze had fallen back to the carpet stain. May continues, trying to keep the judgemental bite out of her tone.

“So I turn on the news, seeing if anyone’s reporting some kind of big villain in New York or something. But it’s completely silent. Then it’s nighttime. And you’re still not back. At this point, I call Happy and ask him to try and track you down.”

Peter sits incredibly still. May hasn’t seen anything in his expression that she can read. She’s floundering in unknown waters.

“Hours later, close to 1am, I get a call from Happy. He tells me to turn on the news. So I do, and I learn you’ve been fighting some mobsters on the roof of New York’s taller skyscrapers.”

It’s silent. Both Parkers can feel the looming darkness of the topic that they’re about to broach with May’s next words.

May sighs.

“Peter,” she says, “your hotheadedness killed someone tonight.”

Peter goes rigid. May bites her lip worriedly, but continues to press him.

“I don’t know what to say about this,” she says. “I’m not a superhero. I’m not law enforcement. I’m not someone people entrust their lives to. I’m just a manager at a charity organization. But what I do know is this. You fucked up tonight. And you better not fuck up again.”

_—you killed someone you killed someone you killed someone you killed—_

Peter closes his eyes. It takes an enormous effort to banish the chanting from his head. May gives him another one of her considering looks, worried and confused.

“Peter, I think you need to take a break.”

At that, Peter snorts derisively. May frowns.

“I don’t think you’re quite ready to—”

“May, whether I like it or not, people need me,” Peter cuts in, finally speaking for the first time since he stepped foot back into his apartment. May trails off, frowning at Peter as he runs a frustrated hand through his messy hair. “I’m not being a good enough Spider-Man. The world needs me, now that Iron Man is gone. And I’m screwing them over.”

“Pete—”

“I failed him,” Peter barrels on, the sight of the life from the man’s eyes blinking out playing in his head on repeat. “I failed that guy, and I failed New York. I failed the Avengers, I failed my friends, I failed—”

_I failed Tony._

Peter seizes up and bottles down the torrent of emotions that suddenly erupted in him. He stands up, ignoring May’s worried frown as he stiffly walks over to his bedroom door. Saying nothing, he enters his room as May watches from a distance, closing the door firmly behind him.

Once he’s in the safe confines of his empty room, Peter knocks his head back against the door and breathes out a shaky sigh. His chest feels like a storm, brewing with suppressed emotions that Peter hadn’t let himself feel after he saw the state of New York City in the aftermath of the Blip.

Peter closes his eyes. Feeling with his fingers, the young teenager finds the doorknob and locks it. Peter slides away from the bedroom door, traveling the short distance to his bed and crashing onto it, still in his Spider-Man suit. Burrowing his head against the pillow, Peter closes his eyes once more.

And for once, he lets himself feel.

* * *

 

_Tony’s no longer there._

_As the Avengers around him slowly start to disperse, forcing themselves to start taking the first steps in the aftermath of Thanos’ attack on Earth, Peter sits quietly. Still and unmoving on a concrete slab, a few feet away from where his hero lies._

_Pepper is still there, sobbing and wailing into Tony’s chest as the enormous strength of her grief finally forces its way out of her, unchecked by Tony’s desperate dying gaze. Rhodey has moved behind her, kneeling next to her and holding her shoulders as a means of shared comfort. A few tears are starting to trickle down his cheeks, but Rhodey manages to keep the quiet gasps out of Pepper’s attention._

_Peter stares._

_Tony lays still._

_The tears are still streaming down his face, but astonishingly, no emotions overwhelm him. It’s a strange sensation. When Uncle Ben had died, Peter was in all sorts of states. Scared, angry, spiteful, helpless, devastated. He hadn’t been able to get his emotions under control even when the police showed up in that dark alleyway and pulled him away from Ben’s chilling body._

_But now?_

_Peter’s numb._

_His jaw is slack. His shoulders are relaxed. His breathing is steady. Peter’s not feeling anything. He’s merely staring, looking at Tony’s still body, the blackened burn marks running up the entirety of his right side, the empty glass of his eyes._

_Tony’s not there._

_Peter sits alone in the activity of the battle’s aftermath. Around him, the heroes have started to stir. Doctor Strange is opening up portals to get people back home to where they belong, or where they need to go. Black Panther and Captain America are quietly discussing something on the side. Wanda is cautiously making her way to Clint, warily observing the archer’s expression. The sorcerers are making their rounds, healing the more serious wounds as people are sent off. Everyone is working like a well-oiled machine. Exhausted, but moving in tandem._

_Peter sits alone in the sea of heroes working around him._

_He’s almost invisible. Hell, he practically is. When Pepper finally exhausts herself, Doctor Strange immediately makes her a portal back to her cabin. Rhodey helps her in, following her inside as the portal closes behind them. Neither spare a single glance back to Peter, leaving the teenager alone amongst the rubble._

_Tony’s dead body sits across from him._

_Peter doesn’t want to look._

_Peter bows his head in silence. Tucked into Tony’s little pocket of the world, no one comes near him. No one spares him a glance. No one approaches him. The heroes around him work in tandem, almost like they’re revving up their engines and gearing up for one more fight. They start to work faster, getting things done and clearing out the area. Captain America and Black Panther start to organize relief efforts. Doctor Strange and the sorcerers help them get their forces to all parts of the globe. The Hulk starts to craft a public announcement to explain the situation. Everyone is working._

_No one looks at Peter._

_“Who’s Spider-Boy?”_

_“Uh...I don’t know, actually. Apparently, Tony was really close to him.”_

_“Why’s he just sitting there?”_

_“Let him grieve, man. I don’t know what we can do for him, anyway. People usually tackle grief alone.”_

_“He’s barely a kid—”_

_“Leave the kid be. Tony believed in him. He can handle this on his own.”_

_On his own. On his own._

_Tony’s no longer there._

_Peter is left sitting on a slab of concrete amongst a pile of rubble, missing the phantom warmth of an arm slung over his shoulder._

* * *

 

_“The world’s a lot messier than we thought it was.”_

_Peter is standing with the small group of Avengers that have temporarily made base at a nearby safehouse. After almost a few hours, Clint of all people had finally come over to Peter, silently guiding him to Doctor Strange. The sorcerer took one look at them and made a portal to the Quinjet. Clint pushed Peter onboard, seating him immediately as he headed for the pilot’s cabin._

_“What’s your address, kid?”_

_Peter doesn’t like the unfamiliarity of the nickname on Clint’s tongue._

_“Queens. Just take me to Queens.”_

_“Right. I’ll get you there. You got family back home, right?”_

_Clint is gone, having flown back to his family to see them for the first time in five years. Peter is happy for him. May had burst into tears and hugged the life out of him when she first set eyes on Spider-Man. Peter hopes Clint gets the same warm welcome that he did._

_Peter doesn’t know any of the people in this room._

_They’re all big names, with strong powers and an indisputable reputation. The Scarlet Witch. Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Hulk. But Peter doesn’t know them. Not in the way he knew Tony._

_“—the Asgardians with relief efforts in Europe, so we won’t need that much firepower there. But I’d like to establish some contact with the people working in Asia—”_

_He misses Tony. Tony’s mission briefings were a lot more fun. With pretty graphics and sarcastic jokes being thrown about everywhere. This one, Steve Rogers’ mission briefing, is a lot more serious, a lot more dead and procedural than Tony’s. No one’s making any jokes. No one’s lifting up the mood. No one left to have fun with._

_Peter misses Tony._

_“The densely populated cities need some help organizing relief sources. Scott, you live in San Francisco, right? You think you can take a small team and cover the entirety of the west coast?”_

_Scott, who’s standing beside Peter, slams a hand dramatically over his chest. Eyes wide, he shifts his gaze between Captain America and the young teenager beside him wildly._

_“What?!” Scott squeaks exaggeratedly, “Why—That’s an honor, Captain America! But I’m only a specialist in a security firm! You sure you want to leave the Pacific to me?!”_

_Peter smiles. Scott grins at him and gives him a thumbs up. In front of them, Steve sighs but allows a fond smile to make its appearance._

_“I trust you.”_

_“Well, if Captain America trusts me, then I guess I have to!”_

_Peter laughs._

_“Next, New York. A lot of people have been asking about you, Queens. I think it would make everyone feel a lot better if they had a friendly face leading the effort. What do you say?”_

_Peter grins up at Steve. There’s the telltale spark of a bond forming between their gazes. It feels similar to the time Tony asked about Peter’s motivations in his bedroom two—no, seven years before._

_Only this time, the bond seems to be stronger, unchallenged by distance and emotional barriers._

_Steve waits expectantly for an answer, mischief in his eyes._

_Peter nods._

_“Yes, sir!”_

* * *

 

_Steve decides to retire._

_Peter had been watching from the trees as Bruce prepared for Steve to disappear through the time machine. His heightened hearing had picked up the sound of slow, unsteady footsteps by the bank. He had followed it, worried for an unwelcome visitor, but instead found an old man hobbling to a lonely bench by the lakeside. Peter watched him, seeing him set the rather large bag next to him. As he sat, the old man turned. Peter watched the old man’s familiar but serene face watch Bruce work with a telltale fondness._

_Peter leaves to check on Morgan._

* * *

 

_May has post traumatic stress disorder._

_She hasn’t been officially diagnosed, but Peter recognizes the signs from what the Vanished community has reported about their loved ones on the internet. She’s constantly searching for Peter, asking his whereabouts, freaking out when Peter takes too long to respond to a text message. Peter tries his best to help alleviate the panic that sets in when May starts to fear the worst. He finds it surprising how easy it is for May to fall into that deep, dark spiral of “Peter’s gone, Peter’s gone, oh god, I knew this was a dream!”_

_Peter urges May to go to counseling. She does. But counseling services are overworked in the aftermath of the Blip as people struggle to accept that they finally have their loved ones back. Many feel fear, scared of another Thanos coming to rain down upon them and take everything they love away from them again. And sometimes, the counselors themselves can’t handle it as their own personal experiences with the Vanished intermingle with their clients._

_Everyone was affected by the Snap._

_Peter stills as May quietly opens his bedroom door to check on him for the fifth time that night. His aunt stands quietly in the doorframe for a few minutes, watching him breathe under the covers. After a while, she retreats, closing the door behind him._

_Peter lets out a quiet sigh as he shifts uncomfortably. The bruises from the fights on Titan and at the Compound have been bothering him. There’s nothing he can do but wait them out. May had turned an alarming shade of green when she saw the bruises splattered against his chest for the first time and quickly excused herself to go to the bathroom. He could still hear her struggling to breathe. Since then, Peter’s made sure to keep his shirt on at all times whenever he sported a visible injury._

_All he can do is try to convince May that he is safe._

_It’s enough for May._

* * *

 

_Peter is meant to lead New York’s recovery efforts. And he does well. Thanks to May’s connections, Peter is able to reassemble all the charity organizations and bind them into one huge working force of good. New Yorkers helping New Yorkers. The community begins to right itself almost immediately. Peter predicts that by the end of the month, living arrangements and temporary waivers of bills will have everyone somewhat settled in._

_Peter forgets multiple times to stop expecting a phone call or voicemail of praise from a certain someone._

_When the first villain attacks, Peter doesn’t expect it. He’s out as Spider-Man, helping families move into subsidized housing waived by the government when he hears a stringent roar. Half the people scatter, immediately dashing into shops and stores. The rest look around in confusion, without the benefit of five years experience._

_The Rhino crashes around the corner._

_Spider-Man barely manages to save the families from getting trampled. But in almost record time, Peter has the new archenemy webbed up and suspended above the ground, struggling and shouting at the young teen hero as Spider-Man lands back on the ground to admire his handiwork._

_The New Yorkers hesitantly stream out of the shops, looking up at the Rhino in awe._

_“Man, it’s been so long since we’ve had someone looking out for us little guys in New York,” a man says as he walks over, smiling. Peter blinks._

_“No one was watching the city?” he asks._

_“Well, Captain America sometimes did, but after the Snap, the heroes were pretty spread out.” The man looks up at the Rhino and whistles. He looks as if he’s in disbelief. “Most of the time, we had to just run and hide if we saw someone dangerous on the streets.”_

_Peter looks back. The citizens who had been left behind were all looking up at the Rhino in varying degrees of disbelief. Peter feels something steadier settle in his chest._

_“You won’t have to hide in fear anymore. Spider-Man’s back, and he’s going to take care of New York.”_

* * *

 

_Scott’s living on the West Coast, acting as the liaison for Avengers activities on the other side of the country. Leaving Peter with the last few members of the active Avengers._

_The remaining Avengers on the East Coast are gathered in a conference room in the White House. Peter would normally be stoked to be there, but things look different to him now. The white columns and painted portraits of past presidents only remind him of the times Tony and Peter had confrontations with the government. The State Secretary loved to drop by to hound Tony about the Rogue Avengers. Sometimes, Spider-Man found himself ambushed by unmarked cars. Tony would hypothesize that they were Thaddeus Ross’ henchmen. And Peter would often be treated to an admittedly comical game of wild goose chase between any government official unlucky enough to be delegated the job of talking to Tony Stark._

_Peter doesn’t have Tony around to hide behind anymore._

_“What do you mean I’m not sponsored by the state?”_

_“What we mean is that we want to avoid any instance of a superpowered individual running rogue again. Thus, we won’t be having another Captain America.”_

_“Steve gave his shield to me.”_

_“And we will be needing that back.”_

_“Over my dead body.”_

_Peter watches as Sam Wilson encounters his first obstacle as the new Captain America. The soldier slowly grows stiffer and more hostile as the President’s military generals press for his resignation as the new Captain America._

_He’s supposed to help his teammates, right?_

_“There’s no one left who can lead the Avengers, you know. I think Mister Wilson’s a good fit.”_

_Sam immediately snaps his highly irritated gaze to him. Peter shrinks under the heat of it, immediately regretting his decision to open his mouth._

_“You really think these big shots are going to listen to a prepubescent voice?” Sam bites out venomously. Across the table, the men in suits smile indulgently at Peter. They’re humoring him. “Look, this doesn’t concern you, shortcake. Why are you even here?”_

_“I’m an Avenger?”_

_“Oh, god. Look, we don’t need you here right now. Why don’t you go help some old lady cross the street or something, yeah?”_

* * *

 

_“That’s incorrect, Mister Parker. Would someone like to explain which principle he is forgetting?”_

_Peter stands at the front of the room, rejected and confused and all kinds of humiliated as one of the faces he doesn’t recognize spits out the correct answer._

_“Thank you, Miss Hardy. Now, Mister Parker, I’d like for you to try that problem again.”_

_“But I don’t know what...how to.”_

_The teacher sighs at him._

_“You need to try, Peter.”_

_“I am trying! It’s just that the textbooks and the language is so different now, and—”_

_“The school has done everything it can to help the Vanished adjust to their new curriculums,” Miss Mendela interrupts tiredly. Peter feels like a chore. “It’s up to you to meet them halfway.”_

_“Well, the school board hasn’t done enough.”_

_“Miss Jones, we’ve already had a word about this,” the teacher chastises, giving MJ a disapproving look from across the classroom. MJ is slouched against the back of her seat, her judgemental frown deeper set than usual. “Please refrain from starting instances of civil disobedience in my classroom. You’re more than welcome to fight for your rights outside of it.”_

_“I’m just saying—”_

_“Your mother is already under a lot of stress, Michelle. Do you really want to add to her workload?”_

_MJ reluctantly quiets. Peter is left alone at the front of the class, hacking away at a problem he doesn’t understand. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time. As Peter works, face reddening while he hears the delighted whispers and jeers in the background, he finds an unfamiliar hatred for school building inside of him._

_Finally, he gets it right._

_“Well done, Mister Parker,” Miss Mendela finally says, letting out a long sigh. Peter steps away from the board, mentally exhausted. “It took 20 minutes, but you finally arrived at an answer. As for the rest of you, I hope you’ve found your understanding of the material after this. After all, Mister Parker made almost all of the rudimentary mistakes students commonly make. Learn from his plight.”_

_Half the class bursts into laughter. Peter trudges back to his seat, making himself as small as possible. The other half, the Vanished, are strangely quiet as Miss Mendela starts to wrap up the lecture to transition into group work._

_Once the class is left to their own devices, Betty turns around in her seat and looks at Peter._

_“Hey, Peter?”_

_Peter thinly smiles up at her._

_“What’s up?” he asks. Betty returns the smile quietly and brings over her notebook. It’s filled with written problems, notes, and practice questions._

_There’s an alarming amount of red corrections and question marks._

_“I...I don’t get any of this. Do you?”_

_Peter stares at the page. Betty had been one of the top students five years ago. Things might not have come naturally to her, but she had always been someone who lived by the textbook. She understood the formulas, the laws, the procedures better than anyone._

_To see so many glaring red marks on her paper shocked Peter._

_“It’s okay if you don’t get it,” Betty eventually pushes out, having taken Peter’s silence for a “no”. “I don’t think any of us do. Or at least, any of the Vanished. I can go ask Felicia—”_

_Peter glances at the other half of the class. The students who had grown in the five years they were gone were working smoothly, occasionally getting distracted by their phones. A few Vanished students were already trying to ask for help. Only a few of the more good-hearted students were willing to help, and their patience was quickly dwindling with what they seemed to think were obvious answers. The rest only watched, sitting back and grinning at their friends as they laughed at students’ inability to get answers._

_Peter stands up._

_“You know what? Come with me,” Peter tells Betty. Betty looks up at him in surprise, but otherwise follows him. As he passes MJ’s desk, the girl squints up at him suspiciously._

_“What are you doing, Peter?” MJ asks. Peter points to the back of the classroom._

_A lone whiteboard stands in the corner._

_“There’s a spare whiteboard,” Peter tells her. “I’m gonna use it to try and make sense of the new lessons.”_

_MJ squints at him for a little longer before shrugging and gathering her things._

_“I’ll join you.”_

_Soon, Peter is explaining the basic concepts of the new formulas they learned in class to Becky, with the occasional input from MJ. It takes a minute, but Betty is slowing understanding the nooks and crannies of the theory. Her demeanor evolves from shy to enthusiastic, asking clarification a lot more eagerly than what Peter observes from her in class._

_While Peter is in the middle of explaining the second formula, he hears a chair scrape nearby. Turning away from the board, Peter is surprised to find that Flash is settling in behind Betty, trying to avoid Peter’s gaze. When Peter doesn’t let up, Flash sighs and glares at Peter._

_“What? Not all of us are geniuses, Parker,” Flash snaps. Peter hesitates but eventually returns to teaching._

_One by one, more members of the Vanished join them. By the time the bell rings, Peter has amassed a following of the entire Vanished population in the class, all looking up to him from their seats at the back of the classroom. As everyone begins to file out, many give him their thanks, overwhelming Peter with words of heartfelt encouragement._

_“We would be dead without you, Peter.”_

_Peter feels the familiar sense of responsibility and civic duty settle within him. Only this time, it’s his civilian self._

_“We’re not out of the waters yet. Let’s stick together from now on, yeah?”_

* * *

 

_“What measures are the Avengers taking to helped the displaced in the Midwest?”_

_Peter glances to the swirling holographic screen on his HUD. Karen’s quickly rifling through the databases, and finally pulls up some relevant information. Peter’s practiced eyes scan the documents before he focuses back on the press reporters gathered in the large media room in New York’s City Hall. There are the occasional flashes from cameras, rolling video cameras livestreaming the event, and expectant microphones pointed toward him._

_Peter remembers watching Tony stand in this very same place as he, a nameless intern, watched from the sidelines._

_“The Avengers have assisted with expediting government resources to various supply centers in the Midwest, but otherwise we are not wholly involved with recovery efforts in that region,” Peter recites. He feels like he’s wearing a grown-up’s shoes, taking the place of a media representative. “The federal and state governments in concern have taken over the lead in that regard.”_

_“Stark Industries has remained silent on the matter of recovery efforts around the globe. Do the Avengers know why this is?”_

_Peter pauses. Karen’s work on his HUD still and flashes an error message._

_“Unable to glean information from Stark Industry servers,” Karen reports apologetically. The AI pauses before she says her next sentence. “Miss Potts hasn’t returned anyone’s calls outside of her close circle.”_

_Peter sighs._

_“I believe that is a question for Miss Potts.”_

_“Is Stark Industries still working with the Avengers even after Tony Stark’s death?”_

_Peter hesitates. Everything had been silent on Pepper’s end since that fateful day. She was probably grieving, trying to figure out how to proceed without Tony. Peter often found himself wondering if she even remembered him._

_“That...is still a question for the CEO.”_

_Another hand raises. Peter nods toward that reporter._

_“Now that Captain America has retired, who will lead the Avengers?”_

_“We have a new Captain America,” Peter starts. “Mister Rogers asked Mister Falcon to take his shield—”_

_“The government has made it very clear that they will not be sponsoring a new Captain America. Will the Avengers be ignoring this warning and continue working with a superpowered individual unapproved by government screening?”_

_Peter feels trapped by the eyes that have suddenly grown laser-focused on him. The flashes from the cameras seem to be getting brighter._

_“Uh, we’re working on an agreement with the government right now,” Peter stammers. His voice is cracking. Tony’s loud and confident press voice plays in his ears distantly. “Mister Wilson is doing all he can to try and negotiate with the President—”_

_“Falcon and Captain America were branded rogues almost seven years ago. Why would the Avengers take in individuals who have no respect for authority?”_

_“Hey, I’ve got no respect for authority,” Peter replies cheekily, desperately trying to use humor as an escape from the situation. “I don’t know if any of you remember, but I was just some weirdo swinging around the streets of New York—”_

_“Tony Stark was sponsoring you. With Iron Man gone, who’s left to keep the team in check?”_

_“Uh—”_

_The doors behind Peter open. Peter turns to find Sam Wilson in his new Captain America themed Falcon suit, glaring at the reporters. The room erupts into a frenzy as Sam Wilson pushes past Peter and leans down into the microphone._

_“With the abandonment of the Accords five years ago, the Avengers will now be accepting individuals with or without government approval,” Sam announces. “However, we will be working with the United Nations on foreign matters. That’ll be all.”_

_The reporters stand up from their seats, screaming questions. Sam puts a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder as he steers him away from the crowd and through the doors._

_“Falcon, the American government would never allowed an unapproved combat force operate within its borders—!”_

_“Are you ignoring the history and circumstances surrounding the Accords all those years ago—?”_

_“How are the Avengers going to be kept in check this time—?”_

_“Will you be facing no repercussions for allowing the Snap to happen—?”_

_“Would Iron Man really approve of your allegiance, Spider-Man?”_

_Peter stiffens. Falcon turns around and glares at the reporters._

_“Look, we really need to move forward and do what we can with our new team—” he tries, but the reporters ignore him, hungry eyes locked onto Spider-Man’s stiff form._

_“Tony Stark named you an Avenger after he returned from space—”_

_“You are the only active Avenger with official approval—”_

_“Will you be working with the world’s government or allowing Sam Wilson to take the lead—?”_

_“Has Tony Stark left you with any resources to protect the world from another Thanos—?”_

_“What will be your priorities in your duties as an Avenger—?”_

_“With most heroes scattered across the globe, are you capable of assembling them all—?”_

_“Was Tony right to choose an individual who hides his face from us to take his place—?”_

_“No more questions!” Sam roars before shoving Peter through the doors and slamming them shut behind them. Peter’s hypersensitive hearing can hear the din from the conference room rise, angry shouts and pleading answers._

**_“Spider-Man! Spider-Man! Spider-Man!”_ **

_“Well, looks like Tony made sure you’d be the one the people turned to in a crisis, huh?” Sam sneers, giving Peter a scathing smirk. Peter can’t focus on him, the noise from the city suddenly starting to flood his ears, casting him in a murky prison of wavelengths where he can’t tell which noise is what. Sam’s voice loudly echoes through it all, cutting sharp and deep to hit Peter. “Even dead, he’s still finding ways to make things harder for all of us. Sure hope you’re up to the job, pipsqueak. Because that’s a lot of people you’re gonna be disappointing otherwise.”_

**_Disappointing. Disappointing._ **

**_Tony Stark is dead._ **

_Peter barely registers Sam walking away as his mind is suddenly pulled into a space of its own. His vision tunnels, turning dark as his mind traps him with his own thoughts bouncing around and destroying his head. Gasping quietly, Peter stumbles into a nearby supply closet, unknowingly tearing the locked handle off the doorframe as he trips inside and slams the door shut behind him. In the darkness of the closet, Spider-Man finds comfort in isolation, curling into a ball and huddling into the corner._

_But isolation amplifies the critical voices cutting into him._

_Peter suffers through his first panic attack alone._

* * *

 

_“Will you be the next Iron Man?”_

_Peter glances up at Ned, pausing in his assembly of their new Lego figurine. Ned’s face is innocent and curious. Peter shrugs._

_“I’m Spider-Man, Ned. I’m not an Iron Man. Why are you asking?”_

_“The internet’s going crazy. Everyone’s asking about who the next Tony Stark is gonna be,” Ned explains, pulling out his phone. Peter watches as Ned scrolls through various Twitter feeds, occasionally holding the screen up for Peter to see. “A lot of them are hoping you’ll be the one who steps up to the plate.”_

_“We have Mister Wilson, you know.”_

_“But no one knows him. He’s been following Captain America for years. There wasn’t much that he did by himself.”_

_“Uh, what? He’s done a lot of things, Ned—”_

_“Because Captain America was doing it, Pete. No one trusts a robot.”_

_Peter snorts._

_“Mister Wilson is the farthest thing from a robot.”_

_“Whatever. Point is, people wanted someone who has a track record of saving people by themselves, without anyone telling them. And you’ve got the most public record of it.”_

_Peter frowns as Ned shows him a YouTube compilation. It’s made of shaky video footage of all the little times he helped someone as Spider-Man. Some of them are silly. Others paint Spider-Man as a badass vigilante taking down a human trafficking ring. Peter presses his lips together as the video ends with a little end note._

**_Spider-Man was the only hero who never needed to be told to step in and save someone._ **

**_We need him._ **

_Ned grins at him._

_“It’s awesome, right?!” he exclaims. “People are finally realizing how badass you are!”_

**_You’re our only hope, Spider-Man._ **

_The figurine in his hands drops into a million pieces on the floor. Ned freezes as Peter suddenly plops his head into his hands, breathing shakily. The young boy frowns, awkwardly reaching out to lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder._

_“Peter…?”_

_The second Ned touches Peter’s shoulder, Peter recoils so violently that Ned falls onto his back in surprise. As he gets up, Ned watches Peter’s trembling form in concern, hearing the small, quiet gasps coming from behind his hands._

_“Pete, are you okay? What’s happening? Peter? Peter!”_

* * *

 

_Tony never taught Peter how to handle the pressure._

_No matter where Peter turns, he is needed. At school, Peter is organizing study groups and teaching his fellow peers to catch them up with their school work. At home, May’s desperate for her nephew to be pristine and unhurt, whole and healthy after returning from the dead. With the Avengers, Peter struggles to keep up with the rigid team dynamic under Sam’s lead. On the streets of New York, Spider-Man is watched by the desperate eyes of the populace._

_It’s the night before the funeral. Pepper had broken her silence and invited May and Peter to stay at the cabin for the night. May had immediately accepted, sensing a call for help from a fellow widow in distress. The Parkers had arrived in the middle of the night, hastily unloading their small duffel bags. Pepper and May had a quiet girl’s night in the living room, but they soon went to bed around midnight._

_Peter, however, couldn’t sleep._

_He had crawled out of his window after making sure May was sound asleep, unlikely to wake up to check on him. At first, he had intended on merely watching the lake ripple under the moonlight. But the silence of the night started to make him antsy, his stillness making him feel urgency to move. After weeks of constant movement, Peter felt uncomfortable sitting in place for longer than a minute._

_Tony’s mark is everywhere._

_Peter’s heart aches at the unfamiliar hints of his hero. The handmade swingset built for Morgan. The fishing poles stacked against the dock. A wooden workbench sitting a safe distance away from the cabin. Peter tries to imagine Tony there, working on something new and creative, but he can’t make the image come to mind._

_Five years of life that Peter missed._

_Peter suddenly feels an inexplicable urge to run._

_He quickly jumps down, landing softly in a pile of leaves. And he runs. He runs from the reminders of Tony, runs from the responsibilities he sees in May, runs from the reminders of civilization depending on him. He runs to be alone, hidden by nature where no one and nothing can judge or demand something of him. He runs and runs, extending his enhanced hearing to pinpoint the sound of something familiar. Some small reminder of what used to be, the unburdened life he had before everything turned to Hell._

_He finds himself at the ruined gates of the fallen Avengers Compound._

_Peter pants heavily, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He must have run miles. Peter checks the time on his watch. 2:37am. The young teen straightens up, licking his dry mouth as he surveys the area. The Compound is still in ruins, left behind exactly the way it was when the heroes left to attend to the world outside of the battlefield._

_He remembers echoes of a life that once was._

_Peter hears the sound of water._

_The young hero traverses past the gates, stumbling over concrete and debris. Peter looks around, taking in the scene of the battle for the first time. He can see the large footprints where Scott had walked through, blast marks from hundreds of different weapons. He can see the claw marks of aliens, molten ground from fire blasts._

_He sees the river in the distance._

_Peter is finally treated to a memory of what once was. A hangout at the Compound with Tony during the summer. Tony trying out some new military drones over the lawn next to the river. Peter hopping onto one of the drones for fun, testing to see if it can support his weight. Tony cheekily flying the drone over the river and rotating it, flinging Peter off and dropping him into the ice cold waters of the Hudson. Peter sputtering as he surfaces, glaring at a laughing Tony on the river bank. Peter’s delight as he watches the grin drop from Tony’s face when Peter shoots a web toward Tony’s ankles and pulls him into the river with him. Tony surfacing, cussing him out violently as he smacks Peter over the head while the young hero doubles over with laughter from his flattened hair._

_Peter is brought back to the present by the sound of rushing water and looks down. The strong currents rush under him languidly, dark and dangerous with no hint of that bright summer day Peter remembers._

_Peter sees the New York skyline in the distance. The lights blinking in the night, giving life to the City That Never Sleeps. Peter remembers happier days of flying around skyscrapers, talking to Tony through the comms as he took down robbers or bike thieves. He remembers the phantom of someone constantly taking up his attention in his ear, calling out corrections to his movements or reminding him of enemies he forgot were there._

_Now, his ears are silent._

**_“I don’t know if I can do this, Mister Stark.”_ **

_There’s no answer. Peter drops to the ground, struggling to keep his heavy breaths steady. Another panic attack. Peter keeps it at bay, squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses on happier months, fun lab days at the Compound and easy-going patrols through the streets of New York._

_The silence of the ruined battlefield is deafening in his ears._

_There is no one there._

_“It’s so hard,” Peter whispers. The lone boy sits amongst the ruins of the Compound, haunted by the silence of his mentor’s last battlefield. Peter stares across the river at the New York skyline._

_Twinkling. Bright. Full of life._

_Under his protection._

_“I don’t know if I’m the right person for this job,” Peter continues. He tears his gaze away from the city, staring up at the starry night sky. The chilling darkness of space grips him, entrancing Peter as he stares up into the distant twinkling of stars. Potential threats, comparable to Thanos, lurk in those galaxies. A bigger world, bigger than the one Tony trained him for._

_There is no light left to comfort him._

_“Tony, I can’t do this,” Peter says. Suddenly, he finds himself drowning in loss. Missing Tony’s steady voice as he coaches him through an engineering problem. Missing Tony’s heavy hand squeezing his neck in silent praise after Peter rounds up a team of HYDRA soldiers. Missing Tony’s focused gaze on him as Peter struggles to explain his troubles with his drone’s coding._

_“I can’t do this. I can’t do this alone.”_

_Peter feels the grief suddenly wash over him. He curls into a ball, crying silently by the riverbank at his mentor’s last resting place._

**_“I need you.”_ **

_Peter doesn’t notice the ominous floating skeleton dressed in ragged robes bathing his body in blue light._

* * *

 

Tony watches as Stephen flips through the thin tome on ghost research for the third time that night, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he tries to calm the antsiness that had been plaguing him ever since they realized Peter may be in danger. He knows it’s fruitless. Everything in that sorcerer’s journal was meant for normal ghosts, normal Obsessions. Everything about Tony and Peter’s case is unnatural.

“Why is she doing this?” Stephen grits out irritatedly as he finally gives up, slamming the pages shut. Tony struggles not to let the worry overtake him, feeling the black mass shifting inside its new home on his chest.

“I don’t know.”

“Lady Death is a cosmic tool of the universe. She shouldn’t have any personal aspirations!”

“Everything evolves, Stephen,” Wong calls out, frowning at something on his phone screen. He looks engrossed in it. “Lady Death is no exception.”

“Are we supposed to battle a Tier I universal being, then? None of us are even remotely prepared for that kind of confrontation!”

“She doesn’t seem _that_ bad,” Tony tries, attempting optimism. The irritated glare Stephen gives him tells him it’s a bad attempt. “Maybe things will work out on their own?”

“You almost turned into a poltergeist in the middle of New York—”

“But I didn’t.”

“—and now we know Mephisto is after your time traveling blueprints. Hail Vishanti that Nightmare has stayed at bay this entire time.”

“Don’t use sacred beings’ names in vain, Stephen,” Wong chastises. Stephen pulls a face. Tony sighs shakily, feeling his nonexistent heart beating unnaturally fast, throwing him off-kilter.

“Look, we’re not getting anywhere with this—”

“Well, where exactly do you think we should be heading?”

“I don’t know! You’re the know-it-all! Figure it out!” 

“Stephen, you’re not going to like this,” Wong says suddenly. Stephen and Tony look up from their mini freakout and focus on the librarian. Wong is reading something from his smartphone with a grim face.

“What now?” Stephen grits out. Wong shows them his screen. It’s a news clip of Spider-Man flinging a web out to a falling man. The unnatural bend of the man’s body tells Stephen all he needs to know. “Wong, you know I don’t like seeing the Avengers kill people. Why are you showing me this?”

“Because this is the first time Peter’s killed someone,” Tony says, eyes wide as he watches the clip replay over and over again. He can see the stiffness of Peter’s body in the clip as what Tony assumes is the man’s spine cracking reaches his ear. Tony feels his heart drop as he reads the bottom of the newscast.

**Spider-Man’s First Death Toll**

“He’s always careful with the people he’s fighting,” Tony tells Stephen, who frowns at him. “I taught him nonlethal combat. He gave me a lot of shit about the Instant Kill Mode. Peter wouldn’t kill anyone if he could help it.”

Stephen turns to look a little closer at the clip. He observes the events one more time before speaking.

“It seems to be an accident,” Stephen says slowly. Tony shakily breathes out, running a hand over his goatee.

“Stephen, the kid’s almost as crazy as you are about not killing anyone,” Tony says. The pounding in his ears is getting louder. “And Lady Death has a hold on him. How is he gonna react after this?”

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you know?”

“No! We never—I never had to tell him to pull his punches. We never had to deal with accidental casualties. I didn’t train him for this!”

“Look,” Wong cuts in, bring both heroes’ attention to him. “We need to regroup. Establish our facts. We believe Lady Death has created a tether of sorts between Tony and his protege, and that it’s negatively affecting Peter Parker. Are we certain about this?”

“There’s no other explanation for his behavior,” Stephen replies grimly.

“Not even grief?”

“Not to this extent.”

“Are we going to break the tether, then?”

“Yes! Obviously!” Tony exclaims, giving both Wong and Stephen a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding me? Why wouldn’t you?!”

“We can’t break an emotional tie, Tony,” Stephen tells him tiredly. The stress lines on his face seem permanently etched onto him now as the sorcerer sighs, leaning back into his chair. The Cloak floats closer, hovering. “To do that, we would need to erase the memories that build that bond. And that’s unethical.”

“Then what do we suggest we do?” Wong asks, sighing. “Because I doubt the Order will be happy to hear that we’ve discovered that there is actually one more individual at risk of possession aside from you.”

“Then we don’t tell them.”

“We just need to help Pete move on, right?” Tony prompts. The sorcerers nod, and Tony continues. “So you got any magical grief counselors here or something?”

“I doubt Peter would take too kindly to that,” Stephen dryly responds.

“Only time can heal him,” Wong says gravely, face set in stone. Stephen glances at his friend contemplatively.

“Now that we have Peter to worry about too, how are we going to keep track of him?” Stephen asks. “We can’t have a sorcerer tail him without alerting the Masters. And neither one of us have the time nor the ability to avoid his sixth sense. We need to track his progress.”

“I can watch him,” Tony offers, anxiety starting to trickle through his ghostly form. Stephen turns to regard him with a frown. “Peter can sense me, but he doesn’t actually believe it’s really me. He thinks I’m all in his head.”

“That might damage his psyche even further,” Wong warns. Tony feels like clawing at someone as he clenches the edge of the table, desperate.

“I need to watch him,” Tony pleads, turning to Stephen. Stephen just observes him, eyes narrowed as he holds Tony’s gaze. “Neither of you know Peter’s tells, anyway. It might’ve been five years, but I can learn them, easy. Just let me watch over him.”

Stephen stares at Tony. The ghost feels like he’s being scrutinized and shrinks back defensively, frowning at the sorcerer before him. Tony wonders what’s going through his head. Stephen breaks off the staring contest a moment later, turning to glance at Wong.

“The longer this goes on, the stronger the Obsession gets,” Stephen tells his fellow sorcerer. Tony blinks in confusion as Wong shakes his head with a sigh. “I’ve been feeling a strange buzzing feeling from Tony for a while now. I think he’s finally developed his side of the paranormal relationship.”

“What?”

“You’re developing the characteristics of an Obsession at last,” Wong explains. Tony doesn’t understand, but now that he thinks of it, that obsessively urgent tingle in his body doesn’t feel normal. “We left you alone with your Obsession for a week. We should’ve known that would strengthen it. Especially now that you’ve been weakened by the hellhounds. You feel an urgency to return to your Obsession again.”

“To Peter? Then let me!” Tony cries out. Wong turns to Stephen with a worried frown.

“What do you think, Stephen?” Wong asks quietly. Stephen looks down at the journal in his lap, pondering. “Is it worth the risk?”

“It’s more of a risk if we keep him away from Peter Parker,” Stephen says eventually, standing up. He starts heading for one of the bookshelves, pulling out a dusty book. Stephen starts to flip through it while verbalizing his thought process. “If we keep a ghost away from an Obsession, the risk of their poltergeist-ing rises. We don’t have a choice.”

“Then take me to him!” Tony demands, already trying to formulate a plan to hep comfort his mentee. Tony dreads to know how devastated Peter has been after the incident with the man at the tower. “What are you waiting for?!”

“I want to avoid another incident like today again,” Stephen says, finally finding the right page. He glances up surreptitiously at Tony, who frowns at the look. “So I think now I’ll take a few more safety precautions in hand.”

Tony stands up suddenly backing away from the table. Stephen watches him go, lips pressed together in displeasure but otherwise not moving. Tony still glares at him suspiciously.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“It’s just a tracking spell,” Stephen placates, keeping his hands and body in sight and unmoving. Tony presses against the opposite bookshelf, glancing wildly between Wong and Stephen. He feels the tense urgency in himself racket up tenfold.

“That’s not really comforting to hear. What are you, the NSA?”

“It’s just so I can know your whereabouts at all times,” Stephen reasons, “so that when you do run into trouble, I can open a portal to your exact location.”

Tony isn’t convinced. The voice from his arc reactor whispers to him, reminding him repeatedly of what happened the first time he set foot in the Sanctum. 

_A magical door that doesn’t close. You’ll be trapped with them._

Wong dips his voice low, deep and soothing as he cautiously extends a hand toward Tony.

“Don’t let your instincts control you, Tony,” he advises. Tony grits his teeth and glances down. The housing unit is stirring on his chest, the black goop not quite leaking out just yet. But it’s just about bursting to break free. Tony lets out a shaky breath and nods once to Stephen.

“Do it before I lose my mind,” Tony mutters.

Stephen nods. Quickly, with a smooth efficiency that leaves Tony with the reminder that the man in front of him is one of the strongest sorcerers in his world, Stephen forms the golden sigils and pushes them toward Tony. Tony is bathed in the warm light, the hammering urgency washing away for a brief instant as Stephen’s magic settles into his bones, leaving him with the feeling of someone watching over his movements. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the magic dies down, the fear that had been fighting to overtake him dissipating with it.

“Make sure you’re not late to the fight next time, Magic Mike,” is all Tony says to Stephen. Stephen rolls his eyes and fishes into his pocket, pulling out his wooden sling ring. He starts to make the motions for the portal as Stephen lobs a sarcastic retort right back at him.

“Make sure not to go mingling with female personifications of death next time, you damn playboy.”

* * *

 

Peter wakes up to the sounds of a normal morning in New York. The sounds of tweeting birds. Cars driving down the streets. People speaking loudly into their cellphones. The teenager groans as he rolls over in bed, tossing his pillow over his ears for five more minutes.

He still feels the suit on him.

Peter wrinkles his nose and reluctantly sits up. The Spider-Man suit sticks uncomfortably on him. Peter lets out a disgusted noise as he releases the latch on his suit and wriggles out of it, curling his lips at the soot and blood decorating the stiff fabric.

“Ew. Gross.”

Peter doesn’t notice Tony hovering in the corner of the room, watching him carefully with a worried frown. The young Avenger finally peels the suit off of his legs, rolling off his bed and heading for his laundry basket next to the closet. He tosses it inside, sighing as he glances down at the piles of clothes in the plastic bin.

“Nasty. I need to get a hold of myself,” Peter mutters.

Tony presses his lips together in displeasure as Peter starts lugging the laundry basket out of his bedroom, heading for the door at the other end of the hall. Tony follows him silently at a careful distance.

Peter sets the laundry basket down. He starts going through the motions of loading the laundry in the washing machine, separating the colors and throwing in the detergent. As Peter adjusts the settings and hits the start button, he automatically reaches for his cellphone to check the notifications.

It’s flooded with local headlines about Spider-Man.

Peter chucks the phone onto the couch. Tony trails after him as Peter heads into the kitchen, preparing his breakfast. There’s a note on the counter. Peter chews lazily at his ham and cheese, reading May’s scribbles on the post-it note.

_Leftovers are in the fridge. No friends over. And seriously, take a break. —May_

Peter sighs and takes a seat at the couch. He picks up the remote and starts channel surfing. Tony sits beside him, watching as Peter blandly skips through the news channels all reporting on Spider-Man’s stunt last night. He finally lands on an animal documentary. Peter sits back and watches the cat onscreen, continuing on polishing off his sandwich in the meantime.

Almost an hour later, the show changing to the documented life of a veterinary hospital, Peter’s watch lights up.

“Peter, you have an incoming call from Sam Wilson,” Karen reports. Peter’s lips curl.

“Hang up.”

“Mister Wilson says he’d like to speak to you. He’s promising to be benevolent.”

Peter scoffs.

“Whatever he says,” Peter grumbles. He picks up the remote and lowers the volume a bit. Tony watches him quietly, sad and helpless. “Put him through.”

_Click._

_“Hey, Spidey.”_

“Hello, Mister Wilson,” Peter greets evenly. He grabs his empty plate and heads into the kitchen, dropping the ceramic into the sink. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

_“I think...we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here.”_

Peter frowns. Tony feels his heart leap with hope. He remembers the last confrontation he witnessed between Peter and Sam. Tony knew the trained soldier would get to his senses sooner or later.

“Why the change of heart?” Peter asks suspiciously, returning to the couch. His mouth twists into a wry grin as he sits down. “Haven’t you seen the news? I’m a killer.”

_“Yeah, but—Wait, what? You killed what now?”_

“My first death count, Mister Falcon. New York’s been going crazy about it. Haven’t you heard?”

_“Oh, shit. No, no I haven’t. Uh, you doing alright kid? I can still handle the press, you know. If you need to take a break.”_

Peter frowns at thin air.

“Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?” Peter questions slowly. Sam sighs through the call.

_“Look, I haven’t been the fairest to the team,”_ Sam tells him. Resignation laces through his tone. Peter narrows his eyes as he listens to him. _“Rhodes and Buck finally made me realize that. Danvers had been hounding me about it this entire time, too. So I believe I owe you an apology.”_

“You’re not just doing this to avoid press duty?” Peter replies dryly. Sam laughs, surprising the teenager. Tony feels his spirits lift at the changed demeanor in his former teammate. Sam hadn’t felt like Sam when he lost his humor to try an embody the tough captain he was trying to be.

_“Nah. But it’s a good bonus,”_ Sam admits. Peter frowns, biting his lips as he considers Sam’s words. Tony feels his relief change to worry as he realizes Peter isn’t convinced.

_He used to be so forgiving of others,_ Tony thinks.

_“Spidey?”_ Sam’s concerned voice floats through the apartment, breaking the silence caused by Peter’s thoughts. _“You still there?”_

“I’m here,” Peter responds, still a little wary. Tony feels his heart sink as Peter eyes the visual sound waves on his watch distrustfully. “But how can I be sure you’re going to treat me like an actual Avenger this time?”

_“Because I’d like to ask you to do me a favor,”_ Sam responds, earning Peter’s curiosity. _“I didn’t hear out Doctor Magic at our last meeting. And I don’t know where to find him. I’m assuming you do?”_

Peter glances back to his bedroom, where the business card Stephen gave him still sits on his desk. He nods slowly to himself.

“Yes…?”

_“Do you think you can invite him to the next Avenger’s gathering? He did say to send someone to get him.”_

“You really want him back?”

_“I get that we need to respect his space,”_ Sam admits. _“I really don’t want secrets on the team. But we can’t just jump into the whole I-have-your-back schtick when we barely know each other. We’ll just earn everyone’s trust with time.”_

“Wow,” Peter says, genuinely impressed. Tony brightens at the sudden change of tone in Peter as the teen glances uncertainly at his watch. “That’s...really cool of you, Mister Wilson.”

_“You can call me Sam, you know.”_

“I think I’ll stick with Mister Wilson for now,” Peter admits. Sam chuckles a little.

_“Well, your choice. The next gathering is tomorrow at noon. You gonna be there?”_

“You want me there, too?”

_“Well, obviously. You’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”_

Peter smiles a little. Tony feels his heart warm as the smile on his face widens from watching Peter’s hostility melt away into the shy boy he remembers from five years ago.

“Yeah.”

_“Then you’ll have a place at the table, too. I promise I’ll be a lot more considerate this time.”_

“Okay. Thanks, Captain Falcon,” Peter says shyly. Sam laughs at the name.

_“Take care of yourself, Spider-Boy.”_

Sam hangs up. Peter slouches back into the cushions, looking up at the ceiling with a stunned expression. Tony can’t contain the bounciness in his form as he mentally shouts his thanks to Sam for taking the first step to mending his team relations.

Steve couldn’t have chosen a better leader.

“Okay, Pete, you got this,” Peter says to himself after a while. Before Tony could decipher what _that_ meant, Peter’s phone rings.

_“It’s Miss Potts,”_ Karen reports from her watch. Peter scrambles to answer the call.

“H—Hello?”

_“Oh good, Peter,”_ Pepper says breathlessly through the speakers. Tony shuffles closer, eager to hear his wife’s voice. _“Listen, I know you’re busy and all, but do you think you can do a small favor for me?”_

“Uh, sure.” Tony wonders why Peter seems so resigned to that question. “What do you need?”

_“Do you think you can look after Morgan until tomorrow? Something came up with the company’s branch in California, and I don’t have time to screen for an acceptable babysitter. Can you do it?”_

“Totally.” Tony grins happily as Peter stands up and heads for his bedroom, rummaging through his closet for some clean clothes. “You want me to pick her up or—?”

_“Actually, Happy’s on his way over to you right now,”_ Pepper admits sheepishly. Peter smiles uncomfortably.

“What?”

_“He said he’d force you to babysit whether you liked it or not. As payback for all the times he babysat you.”_

Peter snorts.

“Oh, trust me. Morgan’s really weak revenge for that,” Peter says dryly.

_“I know. Happy refused to believe it when I told him that. Thank you so much, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”_

“Will do. See you later.”

* * *

 

When the knock on the door comes half an hour later, Tony leaps to his feet. Peter gets up more slowly and shuffles to the door, opening it to find himself greeted with a stomach full of Morgan slamming into his body.

“Oof!” Peter grunts as Morgan initiates her death squeeze around his midriff. “Morgan, you’re going to kill me with your hugs.”

Morgan pulls back and grins toothily up at him. Her teeth are stained with blue juice.

“That just means I’ve been working out,” she responds cheekily. Peter gives her a wry smirk.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How much have you been lifting?”

“Fifty pounds.”

“Only? Do you even lift, bro?”

“Please stop with the memes,” Happy blandly pleads as he walks through the doorway, depositing Morgan’s belongings in the hallway. The bodyguard turns to give Peter a warning look. “I can’t take any more of this generational lingo in the car.”

“Why you gotta be so rude, Mister Happy?” Morgan pipes up cheekily. Happy throws up his hands in surrender as he walks out the door. He turns to Peter just before he steps into the hallway, giving him a stern onceover.

“You okay, kid?” Happy asks, frowning at Peter. Peter smiles back indulgently. “I saw the news. You handling it all okay?”

“What news?” Morgan asks, but Peter puts a finger on her mouth to shush her. He smiles more convincingly at Happy now.

“I’m fine,” he responds. Happy gives him a dubious look before reluctantly surrendering.

“Okay,” he grumbles uncertainly before turning back. “Make sure to feed her something other than sugar!” he calls as he disappears into the hallway. Peter closes the door behind him. When he turns around, Morgan is grinning up at him.

“You want to make paper flowers?” Morgan asks him. Peter chuckles.

“Sure.”

* * *

 

Watching Peter and Morgan make enough paper flowers to put together a bouquet makes up for Tony missing Morgan’s first attempt at origami all those weeks ago. The ghostly billionaire watches with a fond gaze as Morgan adds another purple flower to the predominantly purple bouquet. Peter’s focusing on finishing his red one, listening quietly to Morgan’s stories about her kindergarten class.

“—and so I told Raul, ‘Why don’t you just build the boat with Legos?’ and he looked at me like I was crazy,” Morgan tells Peter as she folds yet another purple paper in half. Tony watches her like its his first time seeing it happen, happy to see his little girl again.

“Yeah?” Peter says distractedly, spacing out as he folds another line in his paper rose. Morgan nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah! And he told me that Legos won’t float in water, and I told him he couldn’t be sure if he never tried it before. So we made one, and guess what? It floats!”

“That’s cool.”

“It really is! Well, kinda, because it was kind of sinking a little bit. I don’t know what was wrong with it. Maybe we used too many blocks?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you okay, Petey?”

Peter pauses in the middle of his final fold. Morgan has all but abandoned her next purple flower, looking up at Peter with a frown on her face. Peter gives her a small smile as Tony watches him, concerned.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been quiet. I don’t think you’re usually this quiet all the time.”

“Oh. Maybe it’s because it’s morning. I’m not usually awake before lunchtime.”

“It has nothing to do with that news Mister Happy was talking about?”

“No.”

“What’s the news, then?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I didn’t even know anything until Mister Happy said it. Did something happen?”

“...Yeah,” Peter admits eventually. “But you don’t need to worry about it, Morgan. Everything will be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“You’re gonna be okay then?”

“Totally,” Peter agrees, then changes topics. “Aren’t you tired of purple? Why don’t you try some orange instead?”

“Mommy really likes purple. And this bouquet is for her.”

“Huh. Well, that’s definitely a lot of purple.”

“I think we need some silver, too. Is there any silver?”

“Sorry, Mor. I only have boring white printer paper.”

“Aw.”

* * *

 

Tony had watched Peter and Morgan shenanigans around the Parker apartment with great fondness throughout the day. After Morgan complained about her sinking Lego boat for the third time that day, Peter had suggested they break away from making paper flowers and put their efforts into making a Lego boat that actually floated. Morgan had eagerly jumped onto the idea, and the two of them flooded the bathtub with water while dragging Peter’s large bin of spare Lego parts to the tiled bathroom. The ghost had watched as Peter gently guided Morgan, giving her suggestions but ultimately letting her construct the boat on her own. There were many failed attempts, but finally, Morgan created a boat balanced and weighted perfectly enough to stay steady on top of the water line.

The fond exasperation that had washed over Peter’s face after Morgan dunked the top half of her body into the bath in celebration warmed Tony’s heart to the fullest.

Now, it was bedtime. May still wasn’t back yet, caught up in some last minute office work. Once Morgan changed into her pajamas, Peter led her to his bedroom, clearing out the top bunk of his stuff and changing the sheets to make it as comfortable as possible.

“I’ve never slept on a bunk bed before,” Morgan admits warily, eyeing the steel ladder Peter was perched on. Peter glances down at her, raising an eyebrow at her tone.

“You don’t sound very excited,” Peter observes, making Morgan pout. “I thought this was every kid’s dream. To sleep on the top bunk?”

“Yeah, but that’s really high,” Morgan responds dubiously, frowning up at the bed suspiciously. Tony chuckles at his kid. “I won’t fall, right?”

“No, you won’t. There are guardrails here. And besides, I’ll be right here to catch you if you do.”

God, that was so sappy. Tony’s going to get cavities if his heart doesn’t burst first.

As Peter readies for bed, Morgan stands quietly at the base of the ladder. After a while, Peter looks up at her, frowning.

“Aren’t you gonna go to sleep, Morgan?” he asks her, plain confusion on his face. Morgan stares at Peter for a while.

“I don’t think you’re okay, Petey,” she says eventually.

Tony’s breath hitches. Peter doesn’t react immediately, merely staring at the little girl at the foot of his bed. There’s silence for a while between the two kids.

“...Why do you think that?” Peter asks slowly. Morgan’s mouth twists downwards.

“You don’t look good.”

“Oh. Jeez, thanks for that.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you talk to anyone that much,” Morgan presses. Peter smiles softly at her.

“I talked to the delivery man.”

“That doesn’t count. You haven’t called your best friend since I got here. Or texted him. Why?”

“We’re...fighting about something right now. Don’t worry about it.”

Morgan gives Peter one of her sad looks. Tony feels his heart wrench. He hated that look.

“I don’t like it when people tell me not to worry,” Morgan says quietly to Peter. The room is dark, only illuminated by the streetlamps outside the window. Peter watches Morgan in concern, a little worry flashing in his eyes. “Because I know something’s wrong. And I can’t do anything about it because they won’t tell me.”

Peter gives Morgan a small smile.

“I don’t think you could have done much for them anyway, Morgan,” Peter tells her quietly. Morgan glances at him.

“Then does that mean I can’t do anything for you, too?” she asks.

Peter hesitates. Tony sighs, unused to the heavy atmosphere surrounding his kids. To think this was the world these two would grow up in. Tony wishes he could still change that, somehow. Give the two of them a better life closer to what they deserved.

“No, not really,” Peter says eventually. “Sorry, Mor.”

Morgan stares at Peter, her mouth twisted down in sadness.

“Can I at least give you a hug?” she offers. Peter blinks, surprised. He opens and closes his mouth for a while before eventually settling.

“Yeah…Yeah, I think a hug would help,” Peter admits. Morgan’s face lightens. Quickly, she climbs over Peter’s sheets, settling on his lap and wrapping her arms around his chest. Peter sighs into her hair and returns the hug, closing his eyes as he holds her close to his chest. They still their movements, quietly absorbing the other person’s comfort as the bedside clock ticks the minutes away.

The two children are quiet in the night, taking comfort in the other’s arms. Tony sits back against the wall and watches them, grimly satisfied that his two kids have sought each other for comfort. Morgan, who’s just lost her father and is forced to watch her mother step into her brave suit for the world. Peter, who’s just lost his closest father figure who’s found himself in a world demanding more from him, more than he can handle. A shared warmth, comfort in finding someone else suffering just as quietly for others.

“I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too, Mor.”

Tony wants nothing more than to be able to say the same words back to them.

_I love both of you, Pete and Morgan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, beautiful. 36 pages of angst. I totally wrote this instead of catching up on all the late and piling assignments for my college classes. Hahaha, YOLO. (Help me! DX)
> 
> These last few chapters have turned into something entirely different from what I envisioned. My outline for these few developments in the storyline were a little too vague. I’ve also been trying to focus a little more on Peter, now. Shifting the story perspective a little bit. It’s nowhere near a perfect story, but you know what? Fuck it.
> 
> I totally wanted to resolve a few subplots. Hell, I didn’t even realize I was planting subplots until I reread all the chapters and found that same itch for resolution again. So yay! We’ve got the usual Sam back again! Also have been using a few snippets of FFH and what little we know of Falcon and the Winter Soldier.
> 
> There was supposed to be more Morgan, but I’ve already burned two days on 30+ pages. I need to learn to restrict myself! If you’d like more Morgan, check out my other fic, “Walkie Check, One, Two.” It’s set in a happier world with Tony alive. (The next chapter in that fic’s gonna be a little ouchie, just fyi.)
> 
> No beta, as usual. Not many edits, either. I should do that later, if I ever have the time. (Nah.) I’m still only on Chapter 11, ugh!
> 
> ACTUALLY WAIT I JUST CHECKED THE OUTLINE. WE’RE HALFWAY THROUGH THE FIC GUYS!!!! OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! I’M ACTUALLY HALFWAY THROUGH A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC! OH MY GOD I’M SO PROUD OF MYSELF!
> 
> Yeah, 22 chapters. What a fucking monster, but we’re halfway through it! Oh my god, this was worth the long hours. I’m so fucking happy, I can’t believe I only just realized this!  
> Anyway, next chapter is some Avengers interaction! See you next time!


End file.
